THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


IN  MEMORY  OF 


MRS.  VIRGINIA  B.  SPORER 


HENRI   RENE  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT. 
From  the  etching  by  Le  Rat 


A  SELECTION /r^;«  the  WRITINGS 
<?/GUYDe  MAUPASSANT 


Short  Stories 

of  the  TRAGEDY 

AND  COMEDY 

OF  LIFE 


B 


WITH  A  CRITICAL  PREFACE  BT 

PAUL  BOURGET 

o/  the  French  Academy 

AND 

AN  INTRODUCTION  BT 

ROBERT  ARNOT„  M.  A. 


VOL.1 


THE  REVIEW  OF  REVIEWS  CO. 
NEW  YORK 


Cot\KIGHT.    1903,    nV 

M.  waLtt.r  dunn-e 


Inured  nt    Stationer,'   Halh  London 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  * 


Volume  I . 


FACB 
I 

40 

75 
104 

121 

139 

M7 

154 

173 
183 

199 

212 

222 

231 

236 

244 

261 
269 
279 
287 
294 
301 

305 

*At  the  close  of  the  last  volume  will  be  found  a  complete  list  of 
the  French  Titles  of  De  Maupassant's  writings,  with  their  English 
equivalents. 


I 

MADEMOISELLE    FIF!      . 

2 

AN    AFFAIR  OF  STATE 

3 

THE    ARTIST 

4 

THE    HORLA 

5 

MISS    HARRIET      . 

6 

THE    HOLE 

7 

LOVE             .            .            .            . 

8 

THE    INN 

9 

A    FAMILY 

10 

BELLFLOWER  . 

1 1 

WHO    KNOWS?     . 

12 

THE    DEVIL 

^3 

EPIPHANY 

M 

SIMON'S   PAPA 

15 

WAITER,    A    "bock" 

16 

THE    SEQUEL  TO    A    DIVORCF. 

17 

THE    MAD    WOMAN 

18 

IN    VARIOUS    ROLES 

19 

THE    FALSE    GEMS 

20 

COUNTESS  SATAN      . 

21 

THE    colonel's    IDEAS 

22 

TWO    LITTLE    SOLDIERS      . 

23 

GHOSTS       .             .            .            . 

24 

WAS    IT    A    DREAM  ? 

2y 

THE    DIARY    OF    A    MADMAN 

26 

■  AN    UNFORTUNATE    LIKENESS 

27 

A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION 

GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT 

F  THE  French  writers  of  romance  of  the  latter 
part  of  the  nineteenth  century  no  one  made 
a  reputation  as  quickly  as  did  Guy  de  Mau- 
passant. Not  one  has  preserved  that  reputation  with 
more  ease,  not  only  during  life,  but  in  death.  None 
so  completely  hides  his  personality  in  his  glory.  In 
an  epoch  of  the  utmost  publicity,  in  which  the  most 
insignificant  deeds  of  a  celebrated  man  are  spied, 
recorded,  and  commented  on,  the  author  of  "  Boule 
de  Suif,"  of  "Pierre  et  Jean,"  of  "Notre  CcEur,"  found 
a  way  of  effacing  his  personality  in  his  work. 

Of  De  Maupassant  we  know  that  he  was  born  in 
Normandy  about  1850;  that  he  was  the  favorite  pupil, 
if  one  may  so  express  it,  the  literary  proUgi,  of  Gus- 
tave  Flaubert;  that  he  made  his  dCbut  late  in  1880, 
with  a  novel  inserted  in  a  small  collection,  published 
by  Emile  Zola  and  his  young  friends,  under  the  title: 
"The  Soirees  of  Medan";  that  subsequently  he  did 
not  fail  to  publish  stories  and  romances  every  year  up 
to  1891,  when  a  disease  of  the  brain  struck  him  down 
in  the  fullness  of  production;  and  that  he  died,  finally, 
in  1893,  without  having  recovered  his  reason. 

We  knov/,  too,  that  he  passionately  loved  a  stren- 
uous physical  life  and  long  journeys,  particularly  long 

(xiii) 


Xiv  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

journeys  upon  the  sea.  He  owned  a  little  sailing 
yacht,  named  after  one  of  his  books,  "Bel-Ami,"  in 
which  he  used  to  sojourn  for  weeks  and  months. 
These  meager  details  are  almost  the  only  ones  that 
have  been  gathered  as  food  for  the  curiosity  of  the 
public. 

I  leave  the  legendary  side,  which  is  always  in  evi- 
dence in  the  case  of  a  celebrated  man, —  that  gossip, 
for  example,  which  avers  that  Maupassant  was  a  high 
liver  and  a  worldling.  The  very  number  of  his  vol- 
umes is  a  protest  to  the  contrary.  One  could  not 
write  so  large  a  number  of  pages  in  so  small  a  num- 
ber of  years  without  the  virtue  of  industry,  a  virtue 
incompatible  v/ith  habits  of  dissipation.  This  does 
not  mean  that  the  writer  of  these  great  romances  had 
no  love  for  pleasure  and  had  not  tasted  the  world, 
but  that  for  him  these  were  secondary  things.  The 
psychology  of  his  work  ought,  then,  to  find  an  in- 
terpretation other  than  that  afforded  by  wholly  false 
or  exaggerated  anecdotes.  I  wish  to  indicate  here 
how  this  work,  illumined  by  the  three  or  four  posi- 
tive data  which  1  have  given,  appears  to  me  to  de- 
mand it. 

And  first,  what  does  that  anxiety  to  conceal  his 
personality  prove,  carried  as  it  was  to  such  an  ex- 
treme degree  ?  The  answer  rises  spontaneously  in  the 
minds  of  those  who  have  studied  closely  the  history 
of  literature.  The  absolute  silence  about  himself,  pre- 
served by  one  whose  position  among  us  was  that  of 
a  Tourgenief,  or  of  a  Merimee,  and  of  a  Moliere  or 
a  Shakespeare  among  the  classic  great,  reveals,  to  a 
person  of  instinct,  a  nervous  sensibility  of  extreme 
depth.     There   are   many  chances  for  an  artist  of  his 


CRITICAL   PREFACE  XV 

kind,  however  timid,  or  for  one  who  has  some  grief, 
to  show  the  depth  of  his  emotion.  To  take  up  again 
only  two  of  the  names  just  cited,  this  was  the  case 
with  the  author  of  "Terres  Vierges,"  and  with  the 
writer  of  "Colomba." 

A  somewhat  minute  analysis  of  the  novels  and  ro- 
mances of  Maupassant  would  suffice  to  demonstrate, 
even  if  we  did  not  know  the  nature  of  the  incidents 
which  prompted  them,  that  he  also  suffered  from  an 
excess  of  nervous  emotionalism.  Nine  times  out  of 
ten,  what  is  the  subject  of  these  stories  to  which 
freedom  of  style  gives  the  appearance  of  health  ?  A 
tragic  episode.  I  cite,  at  random,  "Mademoiselle 
Fih,"  "La  Petite  Roque,"  "Inutile  Beaute,"  "  Le 
Masque,"  "  Le  Horla,"  "L'Epreuve,"  "Le  Champ 
d'Oliviers,"  among  the  novels,  and  among  the  ro- 
mances, "Une  Vie,"  "Pierre  et  Jean,"  "Fort  comme 
!a  Mort,"  "Notre  Coeur."  His  imagination  aims  to 
represent  the  human  being  as  imprisoned  in  a  situa- 
tion at  once  insupportable  and  inevitable.  The  spell 
of  this  grief  and  trouble  exerts  such  a  power  upon 
the  writer  that  he  ends  stories  commenced  in  pleas- 
antry with  some  sinister  drama.  Let  me  instance 
"Saint-Antonin,"  "A  Midnight  Revel,"  "The  Little 
Cask."  and  "Old  Amable."  You  close  the  book  at 
the  end  of  these  vigorous  sketches,  and  feel  how 
surely  they  point  to  constant  suffering  on  the  part  of 
him  who  executed  them. 

This  is  the  leading  trait  in  the  literary  physiog- 
nomy of  Maupassant,  as  it  is  the  leading  and  most 
profound  trait  in  the  psychology  of  his  work,  viz, 
that  human  life  is  a  snare  laid  by  nature,  where  joy 
is  always  changed  to  misery,  where  noble  words  and 


Xvi  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  highest  professions  of  faith  serve  the  lowest 
plans  and  the  most  cruel  egoism,  where  chagrin, 
crime,  and  folly  are  forever  on  hand  to  pursue  im- 
placably our  hopes,  nullify  our  virtues,  and  annihilate 
our  wisdom.     But  this  is  not  the  whole. 

Maupassant  has  been  called  a  literary  nihilist  —  but 
(and  this  is  the  second  trait  of  his  singular  genius) 
in  him  nihilism  finds  itself  coexistent  with  an  animal 
energy  so  fresh  and  so  intense  that  for  a  long  time 
it  deceives  the  closest  observer.  In  an  eloquent  dis- 
course, pronounced  over  his  premature  grave,  Emile 
Zola  well  defined  this  illusion:  "We  congratulated 
him,"  said  he,  "upon  that  health  which  seemed  un- 
breakable, and  justly  credited  him  with  the  soundest 
constitution  of  our  band,  as  well  as  with  the  clearest 
mind  and  the  sanest  reason.  It  was  then  that  this 
frightful  thunderbolt  destroyed  him." 

It  is  not  exact  to  say  that  the  lofty  genius  of  De 
Maupassant  was  that  of  an  absolutely  sane  man.  We 
comprehend  it  to-day,  and,  on  re-reading  him,  we 
find  traces  everywhere  of  his  final  malady.  But  it  is 
exact  to  say  that  this  wounded  genius  was,  by  a  sin- 
gular circumstance,  the  genius  of  a  robust  man.  A 
physiologist  would  without  doubt  explain  this  anom- 
aly by  the  coexistence  of  a  nervous  lesion,  light  at 
first,  with  a  muscular,  athletic  temperament.  What- 
ever the  cause,  the  effect  is  undeniable.  The  skilled 
and  dainty  pessimism  of  De  Maupassant  was  accom- 
panied by  a  vigor  and  physique  very  unusual.  His 
sensations  are  in  turn  those  of  a  hunter  and  of  a 
sailor,  who  have,  as  the  old  French  saying  expres- 
sively puts  it,  "swift  foot,  eagle  eye,"  and  who  are 
attuned  to  all  the  whisperings  of  nature. 


CRITICAL  PREFACE  xvii 

The  only  confidences  that  he  has  ever  permitted 
his  pen  to  tell  of  the  intoxication  of  a  free,  animal 
existence  are  in  the  opening  pages  of  the  story  en- 
titled "Mouche,"  where  he  recalls,  among  the  sweetest 
memories  of  his  youth,  his  rollicking  canoe  parties 
upon  the  Seine,  and  in  the  description  in  "La  Vie 
Errante"  of  a  night  spent  on  the  sea, —  "to  be  alone 
upon  the  water  under  the  sky,  through  a  warm 
night," —  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  happiness  of 
those  "who  receive  sensations  through  the  whole 
surface  of  their  flesh,  as  they  do  through  their  eyes, 
their  mouth,  their  ears,  and  sense  of  smell." 

His  unique  and  too  scanty  collection  of  verses, 
written  in  early  youth,  contains  the  two  most  fear- 
less, I  was  going  to  say  the  most  ingenuous,  paeans, 
perhaps,  that  have  been  written  since  the  Renais- 
sance: "At  the  Water's  Edge"  (Au  Bord  de  I'Eau) 
and  the  "Rustic  Venus"  (La  Venus  Rustique).  But 
here  is  a  paganism  whose  ardor,  by  a  contrast  which 
brings  up  the  ever  present  duality  of  his  nature,  ends 
in  an  inexpressible  shiver  of  scorn: 

"We  look  at  each  other,  astonished,  immovable, 
And  both  are  so  pale  that  it  makes  us  fear." 

*  *  «  «  *  :|c  « 

"Alas!  through  all  our  senses  slips  life  itself  away." 

This  ending  of  the  "Water's  Edge"  is  less  sinis- 
ter than  the  murder  and  the  vision  of  horror  which 
terminate  the  pantheistic  hymn  of  the  "Rustic  Ve- 
nus." Considered  as  documents  revealing  the  cast  of 
mind  of  him  who  composed  them,  these  two  lyrical 
essays  are  especially  significant,  since  they  were 
spontaneous.     They   explain   why  D?.   Maupassant,  in 


XViii  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

the  early  years  of  production,  voluntarily  chose, 
as  the  heroes  of  his  stories,  creatures  very  near  to 
primitive  existence,  peasants,  sailors,  poachers,  girls 
of  the  farm,  and  the  source  of  the  vigor  with  which 
he  describes  these  rude  figures.  The  robustness  of 
his  animalism  permits  him  fully  to  imagine  all  the 
simple  sensations  of  these  beings,  while  his  pessi- 
mism, which  tinges  these  sketches  of  brutal  customs 
with  an  element  of  delicate  scorn,  preserves  him, 
from  coarseness.  It  is  this  constant  and  involuntary 
antithesis  which  gives  unique  value  to  those  Norman 
scenes  which  have  contributed  so  much  to  his  glory. 
It  corresponds  to-  those  two  contradictory  tendencies 
in  hterary  art,  which  seek  always  to  render  life  in 
motion  with  the  most  intense  coloring,  and  still  to 
make  more  and  more  subtle  the  impression  of  this 
Hfe.  How  is  one  ambition  to  be  satisfied  at  the  same 
time  as  the  other,  since  all  gain  in  color  and  move- 
ment brings  about  a  diminution  of  sensibility,  and 
conversely.^  The  paradox  of  his  constitution  per- 
mitted to  Maupassant  this  seemingly  impossible  ac- 
cord, aided  as  he  was  by  an  intellect  whose  influence 
was  all  powerful  upon  his  development  —  the  writer 
I  mention  above,  Gustave  Flaubert. 

These  meetings  of  a  pupil  and  a  master,  both 
great,  are  indeed  rare.  They  present,  in  fact,  some 
troublesome  conditions,  the  first  of  which  is  a  pro- 
found analogy  between  two  types  of  thought.  There 
must  have  been,  besides,  a  reciprocity  of  affection, 
which  does  not  often  obtain  between  a  renowned  sen- 
ior who  is  growing  old  and  an  obscure  junior,  whose 
renown  is  increasing.  From  generation  to  generation, 
?nvv  reascends  no  less  than  she  redescends.     For  the 


CRITICAL   PREFACE  xlx 

honor  of  French  men  of  letters,  let  us  add  that  this 
exceptional  phenomenon  has  manifested  itself  twice 
in  the  nineteenth  century.  Merimee,  whom  I  have 
also  named,  received  from  Stendhal,  at  twenty,  the 
same  benefits  that  Maupassant  received  from  Flaubert. 

The  author  of  "line  Vie"  and  the  writer  of  "Clara 
Jozul"  resemble  each  other,  besides,  in  a  singular  and 
analogous  circumstance.  Both  achieved  renown  at  the 
first  blow,  and  by  a  masterpiece  which  they  were 
able  to  equal  but  never  surpass.  Both  were  misan- 
thropes early  in  life,  and  practised  to  the  end  the 
ancient  advice  that  the  disciple  of  Beyle  carried  upon  his 
seal:  ixefivrjao  arcffzEcv  —  "Remember  to  distrust."  And, 
at  the  same  time,  both  had  delicate,  tender  hearts 
under  this  affectation  of  cynicism,  both  were  excellent 
sons,  irreproachable  friends,  indulgent  masters,  and 
both  were  idolized  by  their  inferiors.  Both  were 
worldly,  yet  still  loved  a  wanderer's  life;  both  joined 
to  a  constant  taste  for  luxury  an  irresistible  desire  for 
solitude.  Both  belonged  to  the  extreme  left  of  the 
literature  of  their  epoch,  but  kept  themselves  from 
excess  and  used  with  a  judgment  marvelously  sure 
the  sounder  principles  of  their  school.  They  knew 
how  to  remain  lucid  and  classic,  in  taste  as  much 
as  in  form  —  Merimee  through  all  the  audacity  of  a 
fancy  most  exotic,  and  Maupassant  in  the  realism  of 
tl;e  most  varied  and  exact  observation.  At  a  little 
distance  they  appear  to  be  two  patterns,  identical  in 
certain  traits,  of  the  same  family  of  minds,  and  Tour- 
genief,  who  knew  and  loved  the  one  and  the  other, 
never  failed  to  class  them  as  brethren. 

They  are  separated,  however,  by  profound  differ- 
ences, which  perhaps  belong  less  to  their  nature  than 


XX  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

to  that  of  the  masters  from  whom  they  received  their 
impulses:  Stendhal,  so  alert,  so  mobile,  after  a  youth 
passed  in  war  and  a  ripe  age  spent  in  vagabond 
journeys,  rich  in  experiences,  immediate  and  personal; 
Flaubert  so  poor  in  direct  impressions,  so  paralyzed 
by  his  health,  by  his  family,  by  his  theories  even^  and 
so  rich  in  reflections,  for  the  most  part  solitary. 

Among  the  theories  of  the  anatomist  of  "  Madame 
Bovary,"  there  are  two  which  appear  without  ceasing 
in  his  Correspondence,  under  one  form  or  another, 
and  these  are  the  ones  which  are  most  strongly  evi- 
dent in  the  art  of  De  Maupassant.  We  now  see  the 
consequences  which  were  inevitable  by  reason  of  them, 
endowed  as  Maupassant  was  with  a  double  power  of 
feeling  life  bitterly,  and  at  the  same  time  with  so 
much  of  animal  force.  The  first  theory  bears  upon 
the  choice  of  personages  and  the  story  of  the  ro- 
mance, the  second  upon  the  character  of  the  style. 
The  son  of  a  physician,  and  brought  up  in  the  rigors 
of  scientific  method,  Flaubert  believed  this  method  to 
be  efficacious  in  art  as  in  science.  For  instance,  in 
the  writing  of  a  romance,  he  seemed  to  be  as  scien- 
tific as  in  the  development  of  a  history  of  customs, 
in  which  the  essential  is  absolute  exactness  and  local 
color.  He  therefore  naturally  v/ished  to  m^ike  the 
most  scrupulous  and  detailed  observation  of  the  en- 
vironment. 

Thus  is  explained  the  immense  labor  in  prepara- 
tion which  his  stories  cost  him  —  the  story  of  "Ma- 
dame Bovary,"  of  "The  Sentimental  Education,"  and 
"  Bouvard  and  Pecuchet,"  documents  containing  as 
much  minuiia:  as  his  historical  stories.  Beyond  every- 
thing  he   tried   to  select  details   that   were   eminently 


CRITICAL   PREFACE  XXi 

significant.  Consequently  he  was  of  the  opinion  that 
the  romance  writer  should  discard  all  that  lessened 
this  significance,  that  is,  extraordinary  events  and 
singular  heroes.  The  exceptional  personage,  it  seemed 
to  him,  should  be<^ suppressed,  as  should  also  high 
dramatic  incident,  since,  produced  by  causes  less  gen- 
eral, these  have  a  range  more  restricted.  The  truly 
scientific  romance  writer,  proposing  to  paint  a  certain 
class,  will  attain  his  end  more  effectively  if  he  incar- 
nate personages  of  the  middle  order,  and,  conse- 
quently, paint  traits  common  to  that  class.  And  not 
only  middle-class  traits,  but  middle-class  adventures. 

From,  this  point  of  view,  examine  the  three  great 
romances  of  the  Master  from  Rouen,  and  you  will 
see  that  he  has  not  lost  sight  of  this  first  and  greatest 
principle  of  his  art,  any  more  than  he  has  of  the 
second,  which  was  that  these  documents  should  be 
drawn  up  in  prose  of  absolutely  perfect  technique. 
We  know  with  what  passionate  care  he  worked  at 
his  phrases,  and  how  indefatigably  he  changed  them 
over  and  over  again.  Thus  he  satisfied  that  instinct 
of  beauty  which  was  born  of  his  romantic  soul,  while 
he  gratified  the  demand  of  truth  which  inhered  from 
his  scientific  training  by  his  minute  and  scrupulous 
exactness. 

The  theory  of  the  mean  of  truth  on  one  side,  as  the 
foundation  of  the  subject, — "the  humble  truth,"  as  he 
termed  it  at  the  beginning  of  "Une  Vie," — and  of 
the  agonizing  of  beauty  on  the  other  side,  in  compo- 
sition, determines  the  whole  use  that  Maupassant 
made  of  his  literary  gifts,  it  helped  to  make  more 
iritense  and  more  systematic  that  dainty  yet  danger- 
ous pessimism  which  in  him  was    innate.     The   mid- 


Xxii  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

die-dass  personage,  in  wearisome  society  like  ours, 
is  always  a  caricature,  and  the  happenings  are  nearly 
always  vulgar.  When  one  studies  a  great  number  of 
them,  one  finishes  by  looking  at  humanity  from  the 
angle  of  disgust  and  despair.  Th»  philosophy  of  the 
romances  and  novels  of  De  Maupassant  is  so  con- 
tinuously and  profoundly  surprising  that  one  becomes 
overwhelmed  by  it.  It  reaches  limitation;  it  seems 
to  deny  that  man  is  susceptible  to  grandeur,  or  that 
motives  of  a  superior  order  can  uplift  and  ennoble 
the  soul,  but  it  does  so  with  a  sorrow  that  is  pro- 
found. All  that  portion  of  the  sentimental  and  moral 
world  which  in  itself  is  the  highest  remains  closed 
to  it. 

In  revenge,  this  philosophy  finds  itself  in  a  rela- 
tion cruelly  exact  with  the  half-civilization  of  our 
day.  By  that  I  mean  the  poorly  educated  individual 
who  has  rubbed  against  knowledge  enough  to  justify 
a  certain  egoism,  but  who  is  too  poor  in  faculty  to 
conceive  an  ideal,  and  whose  native  grossness  is  cor- 
rupted beyond  redemption.  Under  his  blouse,  or  un- 
der his  coat  —  whether  he  calls  himself  Renardet,  as 
does  the  foul  assassin  in  "Petite  Roque,"  or  Duroy, 
as  does  the  sly  hero  of  "Bel- Ami,"  or  Bretigny,  as 
does  the  vile  seducer  of  "Mont  Oriol,"  or  Cesaire, 
the  son  of  Old  Amable  in  the  novel  of  that  name, 
■ — this  degraded  type  abounds  in  Maupassant's  stories, 
evoked  with  a  ferocity  almost  jovial  where  it  meets 
the  robustness  of  temperament  which  1  have  pointed 
out,  a  ferocity  which  gives  them  a  reality  more  exact 
still  because  the  half-civilized  person  is  often  impul- 
sive and,  in  consequence,  the  physical  easily  pre- 
dominates.    There,   as    elsewhere,    the    degenerate   is 


CRITICAL   PREFACE  XXiii 

everywhere  a  degenerate  who  gives  the  impression  of 
being  an  ordinary  man. 

There  are  quantities  of  men  of  this  stamp  in  large 
cities.  No  writer  has  felt  and  expressed  this  com- 
plex temperament  with  more  justice  than  De  Mau- 
passant, and,  as  he  was  an  infinitely  careful  observer 
of  milieu  and  landscape  and  all  that  constitutes  a 
precise  middle  distance,  his  novels  can  be  considered 
an  irrefutable  record  of  the  social  classes  which  he 
studied  at  a  certain  time  and  along  certain  lines.  The 
Norman  peasant  and  the  Provencal  peasant,  for  ex- 
ample; also  the  small  officeholder,  the  gentleman  of 
the  provinces,  the  country  squire,  the  clubman  of 
Paris,  the  journalist  of  the  boulevard,  the  doctor  at 
the  spa,  the  commercial  artist,  and,  on  the  feminine 
side,  the  servant  girl,  the  working  girl,  the  demi- 
griseite,  the  street  girl,  rich  or  poor,  the  gallant  lady 
of  the  city  and  of  the  provinces,  and  the  society 
woman — these  are  some  of  the  figures  that  he  has 
painted  at  many  sittings,  and  whom  he  used  to  such 
effect  that  the  novels  and  romances  in  which  they 
are  painted  have  come  to  be  history.  Just  as  it  is 
impossible  to  comprehend  the  Rome  of  the  Caesars 
without  the  work  of  Petronius,  so  is  it  impossible  to 
fully  comprehend  the  France  of  1850-90  without  these 
stories  of  Maupassant.  They  are  no  more  the  whole 
image  of  the  country  than  the  "Satyricon"  was  the 
whole  image  of  Rome,  but  what  their  author  has 
wished  to  paint,  he  has  painted  to  the  life  and  with 
a  brush  that  is  graphic  in  the  extreme. 

If  Maupassant  had  only  painted,  in  general  fashion, 
the  characters  and  the  phase  of  literature  mentioned. 
he   would    not    be    distinguished    from    other    writers 


XXiv  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

of  the  group  called  "naturalists."  His  true  glory  is 
in  the  extraordinary  superiority  of  his  art.  He  did 
not  invent  it,  and  his  method  is  not  alien  to  that  of 
"Madame  Bovary,"  but  he  knew  how  to  give  it  a 
suppleness,  a  variety,  and  a  freedom  which  were  al- 
ways wanting  in  Flaubert.  The  latter,  in  his  best 
pages,  is  always  strained.  To  use  the  expressive 
metaphor  of  the  Greek  athletes,  he  "smells  of  the  oil." 
When  one  recalls  that  when  attacked  by  hysteric 
epilepsy,  Flaubert  postponed  the  crisis  of  the  terrible 
malady  by  means  of  sedatives,  this  strained  atmos- 
phere of  labor — I  was  going  to  say  of  stupor — which 
pervades  his  work  is  explained.  He  is  an  athlete, 
a  runner,  but  one  who  drags  at  his  feet  a  terrible 
weight.  He  is  in  the  race  only  for  the  prize  of  effort, 
an  effort  of  which  every  motion  reveals  the  intensity. 

Maupassant,  on  the  other  hand,  if  he  suffered  from 
a  nervous  lesion,  gave  no  sign  of  it,  except  in  his 
heart.  His  intelligence  was  bright  and  lively,  and 
above  all,  his  imagination,  served  by  senses  always 
on  the  alert,  preserved  for  some  years  an  astonishing 
freshness  of  direct  vision.  If  his  art  was  due  to  Flau- 
bert, it  is  no  more  belittling  to  him  than  if  one  call 
Raphael  an  imitator  of  Perugini. 

Like  Flaubert,  he  excelled  in  composing  a  story, 
in  distributing  the  f^icts  with  subtle  gradation,  in 
bringing  in  at  the  end  of  a  familiar  dialogue  some- 
thing startlingly  dramatic;  but  such  composition,  with 
him,  seems  easy,  and  while  the  descriptions  are  mar- 
velously  well  established  in  his  stories,  the  reverse  is 
true  of  Flaubert's,  which  always  appear  a  little  ve- 
neered. Maupassant's  phrasing,  however  dramatic  it 
may  be,  remains  easy  and  flowing. 


CRITICAL   PREFACE  XXV 

Maupassant  always  sought  for  large  and  harmo- 
nious rhythm  in  his  deliberate  choice  of  terms,  always 
chose  sound,  wholesome  language,  with  a  constant 
care  for  technical  beauty.  Inheriting  from  his  master 
an  instrument  already  forged,  he  wielded  it  with  a 
surer  skill.  In  the  quality  of  his  style,  at  once  so 
firm  and  clear,  so  gorgeous  yet  so  sober,  so  supple 
and  so  firm,  he  equals  the  writers  of  the  seventeenth 
century.  His  method,  so  deeply  and  simply  French, 
succeeds  in  giving  an  indescribable  "tang"  to  his  de- 
scriptions. If  observation  from  nature  imprints  upon 
his  tales  the  strong  accent  of  reality,  the  prose  in 
which  they  are  shrined  so  conforms  to  the  genius  of 
the  race  as  to  smack  of  the  soil. 

It  is  enough  that  the  critics  of  to-day  place  Guy 
de  Maupassant  among  our  classic  writers.  He  has 
his  place  in  the  ranks  of  pure  French  genius,  with 
the  Regniers,  the  La  Fontaines,  the  Molieres.  And 
those  signs  of  secret  ill  divined  everywhere  under  this 
wholesome  prose  surround  it  for  those  who  knew 
and  loved  him  with  a  pathos  that  is  inexpressible. 


f^idU^Mt 


INTRODUCTION 


BORN  in  the  middle  year  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury, and  fated  unfortunately  never  to  see  its 
close,  Guy  de  Maupassant  was  probably  the 
most  versatile  and  brilliant  among  the  galaxy  of 
novelists  who  enriched  French  literature  between  the 
years  1800  and  1900.  Poetry,  drama,  prose  of  short 
and  sustained  effort,  and  volumes  of  travel  and  descrip- 
tion, each  sparkling  with  the  same  minuteness  of 
detail  and  brilliancy  of  style,  flowed  from  his  pen 
during  the  twelve  years  of  his  literary  life. 

Although  his  genius  asserted  itself  in  youth,  he 
had  the  patience  of  the  true  artist,  spending  his  early 
manhood  in  cutting  and  polishing  the  facets  of  his 
genius  under  the  stern  though  paternal  mentorship  of 
Gustave  Flaubert.  Not  until  he  had  attained  the  age 
of  thirty  did  he  venture  on  publication,  challenging 
criticism  for  the  first  time  with  a  volume  of  poems. 

Many  and  various  have  been  the  judgments  passed 
upon  Maupassant's  work.  But  now  that  the  perspec- 
tive of  time  is  lengthening,  enabling  us  to  form  a 
more  deliberate,  and  therefore  a  juster,  view  of  his 
complete  achievement,  we  are  driven  irresistibly  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  force  that  shaped  and  swayed 

(xxvii) 


Xxviii  GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

Maupassant's  prose  writings  was  the  conviction  that 
in  life  there  could  be  no  phase  so  noble  or  so  mean, 
so  honorable  or  so  contemptible,  so  lofty  or  so  low  as 
to  be  unworthy  of  chronicling, — no  groove  of  human 
virtue  or  fault,  success  or  failure,  wisdom  or  folly  that 
did  not  possess  its  own  peculiar  psychological  aspect 
and  therefore  demanded  analysis. 

To  this  analysis  Maupassant  brought  a  facile  and 
dramatic  pen,  a  penetration  as  searching  as  a  probe, 
and  a  power  of  psychological  vision  that  in  its  mi- 
nute detail,  now  pathetic,  now  ironical,  in  its  merciless 
revelation  of  the  hidden  springs  of  the  human  heart, 
whether  of  aristocrat,  bourgeois,  peasant,  or  priest, 
allow  one  to  call  him  a  Meissonier  in  words. 

The  school  of  romantic  realism  which  was  founded 
by  Merimee  and  Balzac  found  its  culmination  in  De 
Maupassant.  He  surpassed  his  mentor,  Flaubert,  in 
the  breadth  and  vividness  of  his  work,  and  one  of  the 
greatest  of  modern  French  critics  has  recorded  the 
deliberate  opinion,  that  of  all  Taine's  pupils  Maupas- 
sant had  the  greatest  command  of  language  and  the 
most  finished  and  incisive  style.  Robust  in  imagina- 
tion and  fired  with  natural  passion,  his  psychological 
curiosity  kept  him  true  to  human  nature,  while  at 
the  same  time  his  mental  eye,  when  fixed  upon  the 
most  ordinary  phases  of  human  conduct,  could  see 
some  new  motive  or  aspect  of  things  hitherto  un- 
noticed by  the  careless  crowd. 

It  has  been  said  by  casual  critics  that  Maupassant 
lacked  one  quahty  indispensable  to  the  production  of 
truly  artistic  work,  viz:  an  absolutely  normal,  that  is, 
moral,  point  of  view.  The  answer  to  this  criticism  is 
obvious.     No   dissector  of  the  gamut  of  human   pas- 


INTRODUCTION  Xxix 

sion  and  folly  in  all  its  tones  could  present  aught 
that  could  be  called  new,  if  ungifted  with  a  view- 
point totally  out  of  the  ordinary  plane.  Cold  and 
merciless  in  the  use  of  this  point  de  viie  De  Maupas- 
sant undoubtedly  is,  especially  in  such  vivid  depic- 
tions of  love,  both  physical  and  maternal,  as  we  find 
in  ''L'histoire  d'une  fille  de  ferme"  and  "La  femme 
de  Paul."  But  then  the  surgeon's  scalpel  never  hesi- 
tates at  giving  pain,  and  pain  is  often  the  road  to 
health  and  ease.  Some  of  Maupassant's  short  stories 
are  sermons  more  forcible  than  any  moral  dissertation 
could  ever  be. 

Of  De  Maupassant's  sustained  efforts  "Une  Vie" 
may  bear  the  palm.  This  romance  has  the  distinc- 
tion of  having  changed  Tolstoi  from  an  adverse  critic 
into  a  warm  admirer  of  the  author.  To  quote  the 
Russian  moralist  upon  the  book: 

"  '  Une  Vie'  is  a  romance  of  the  best  type,  and  in  my  judgment 
the  greatest  that  has  been  produced  by  any  French  writer  since  Victor 
Hugo  penned  '  Les  Miserables.'  Passing  over  the  force  and  directness 
of  the  narrative,  I  am  struck  by  the  intensity,  the  grace,  and  the  in- 
sight with  which  the  writer  treats  the  new  aspects  of  human  nature 
which  he  finds  in  the  life  he  describes." 

And  as  if  gracefully  to   recall   a   former  adverse   criti- 
cism, Tolstoi  adds: 

"1  find  in  the  book,  in  almost  equal  strength,  the  three  cardinal 
qualities  essential  to  great  work,  viz:  moral  purpose,  perfect  style,  and 
absolute  sincerity.  .  .  .  Maupassant  is  a  man  whose  vision  has 
penetrated  the  silent  depths  of  human  life,  and  from  that  vantage- 
ground  interprets  the  struggle  of  humanity." 

"Bel-Ami"  appeared  almost  two  years  after  "Une 
Vie,"  that  is  to  say,  about  1885.     Discussed  and  criti- 


XXX  GUY   DF.   MAUPASSANT 

cised  as  it  has  been,  it  is  in  reality  a  satire,  an  in- 
dignant outburst  against  the  corruption  of  society 
which  in  the  story  enables  an  ex-soldier,  devoid  of 
conscience,  honor,  even  of  the  commonest  regard  for 
others,  to  gain  wealth  and  rank.  The  purport  of  the 
story  is  clear  to  those  who  recognize  the  ideas  that 
governed  Maupassant's  work,  and  even  the  hasty 
reader  or  critic,  on  reading  "Mont  Oriol,'*  which 
was  published  two  years  later  and  is  based  on  a 
combination  of  the  motifs  which  inspired  "Une  Vie" 
and  "Bel-Ami,"  will  reconsider  former  hasty  judg- 
ments, and  feel,  too,  that  beneath  the  triumph  of 
evil  which  calls  forth  Maupassant's  satiric  anger  there 
lies  the  substratum  on  which  all  his  work  is  founded, 
viz:  the  persistent,  ceaseless  questioning  of  a  soul 
unable  to  reconcile  or  explain  the  contradiction  be- 
tween love  in  life  and  inevitable  death.  Who  can 
read  in  "Bel-Ami"  the  terribly  graphic  description  of 
the  consumptive  journalist's  demise,  his  frantic  clinging 
to  life,  and  his  refusal  to  credit  the  slow  and  m.erci- 
less  approach  of  death,  without  feeling  that  the  ques- 
tion asked  at  Naishapur  many  centuries  ago  is  still 
waiting  for  the  solution  that  is  always  promised  but 
never  comes? 

In  the  romances  which  followed,  dating  from 
1888  to  1890,  a  sort  of  calm  despair  seems  to  have 
settled  down  upon  De  Maupassant's  attitude  toward 
life.  Psychologically  acute  as  ever,  and  as  perfect  in 
style  and  sincerity  as  before,  we  miss  the  note  of 
anger.  Fatality  is  the  keynote,  and  yet,  sourrding 
lov/,  we  detect  a  genuine  subtone  of  sorrow.  Was 
it  a  prescience  of  1895?  So  much  work  to  be  done, 
so  much  work  demanded  of  him,  the  world  of  Paris, 


INTRODUCTION  XXXi 

in  all  its  brilliant  and  attractive  phases,  at  his  feet, 
and  yet  —  inevitable,  ever  advancing  death,  with  the 
question  of  life   still  unanswered. 

This  may  account  for  some  of  the  strained  situa- 
tions we  find  in  his  later  romances.  Vigorous  in 
frame  and  hearty  as  he  was,  the  atmosphere  of  his 
mental  processes  must  have  been  vitiated  to  produce 
the  dainty  but  dangerous  pessimism  that  pervades 
some  of  his  later  work.  This  was  partly  a  conse- 
quence of  his  honesty  and  partly  of  mental  despair. 
He  never  accepted  other  people's  views  on  the  ques- 
tions of  life.  He  looked  into  such  problems  for  him- 
self, arriving  at  the  truth,  as  it  appeared  to  him,  by 
the  logic  of  events,  often  finding  evil  where  he  wished 
to  find  good,  but  never  hoodvv/inking  himself  or  his 
readers  by  adapting  or  distorting  the  reality  of  things 
to  suit  a  preconceived  idea. 

Maupassant  was  essentially  a  worshiper  of  the 
eternal  feminine.  He  was  persuaded  that  without  the 
continual  presence  of  the  gentler  sex  man's  existence 
would  be  an  emotionally  silent  wilderness.  No  other 
French  writer  has  described  and  analyzed  so  minutely 
and  comprehensively  the  many  and  various  motives 
and  moods  that  shape  the  conduct  of  a  woman  in 
life.  Take  for  instance  the  wonderfully  subtle  analysis 
of  a  woman's  heart  as  wife  and  mother  that  we  find  in 
'•'UneVie."  Could  aught  be  more  delicately  incisive? 
Sometimes  in  describing  the  apparently  inexplicable 
conduct  of  a  certain  woman  he  leads  his  readers  to  a 
point  where  a  false  step  would  destroy  the  spell  and 
bring  the  reproach  of  banality  and  ridicule  upon  the 
tale.  But  the  catastrophe  never  occurs.  It  was  nec- 
essary to  stand  poised  upon  the   brink   of  the    preci- 


XXxii  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

pice  to   realize   the   depth  of  the   abyss   and  feel   the 
terror  of  the  fall. 

Closely  allied  to  this  phase  of  Maupassant's  nature 
was  the  peculiar  feeling  of  loneliness  that  every  now 
and  then  breaks  irresistibly  forth  in  the  course  of 
some  short  story.  Of  kindly  soul  and  genial  heart, 
he  suffered  not  only  from  the  oppression  of  spirit 
caused  by  the  lack  of  humanity,  kindliness,  sanity, 
and  harmony  which  he  encountered  daily  in  the 
world  at  large,  but  he  had  an  ever  abiding  sense  of 
the  invincible,  unbanishable  solitariness  of  his  own 
Inmost  self.  I  know  of  no  more  poignant  expression 
of  such  a  feeling  than  the  cry  of  despair  which  rings 
out  in  the  short  story  called  "Solitude,"  in  which  he 
describes  the  insurmountable  barrier  which  exists  be- 
tween man  and  man,  or  man  and  woman,  however 
intimate  the  friendship  between  them.  He  could  pic- 
ture but  one  way  of  destroying  this  terrible  loneliness, 
the  attainment  of  a  spiritual  —  a  divine  —  state  of  love, 
a  condition  to  which  he  would  give  no  name  utterable 
by  human  lips,  lest  it  be  profaned,  but  for  which  his 
whole  being  yearned.  How  acutely  he  felt  his  failure 
to  attain  his  deliverance  may  be  drawn  from  his  wail 
that  mankind  has  no  universal  measure  of  happiness. 

"Each  one  of  us,"  writes  De  Maupassant,  "forms 
for  himself  an  illusion  through  which  he  views  the 
world,  be  it  poetic,  sentimental,  joyous,  melancholy, 
or  dismal;  an  illusion  of  beauty,  which  is  a  human 
convention;  of  ughness,  which  is  a  matter  of  opinion; 
of  truth,  which,  alas,  is  never  immutable."  And  he 
concludes  by  asserting  that  the  happiest  artist  is  he 
who  approaches  most  closely  to  the  truth  of  things 
as  he   sees  them   through  his  own  particular  illusion. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

Salient  points  in  De  Maupassant's  genius  were  that 
he  possessed  the  rare  faculty  of  holding  direct  com- 
munion with  his  gifts,  and  of  writing  from  their 
dictation  as  it  was  interpreted  by  his  senses.  He  had 
no  patience  with  writers  who  in  striving  to  present 
life  as  a  whole  purposely  omit  episodes  that  reveal 
the  influence  of  the  senses.  "As  well,"  he  says, 
"refrain  from  describing  the  effect  of  intoxicating 
perfumes  upon  man  as  omit  the  influence  of  beauty 
on  the  temperament  of  man." 

De   Maupassant's   dramatic   instinct  was  supremely 
powerful.    He  seems  to  select  unerringly  the  one  thmg 
in  which  the  soul  of  the  scene  is  prisoned,  and,  mak- 
ing that  his  keynote,  gives  a  picture  in  words  which 
haunt  the   memory   like   a   strain   of  music.     The  de- 
scription of  the  ride  of  Madame  Tellier  and  her  com- 
panions in  a  country  cart  through  a  Norman  landscape 
is   an   admirable   example.     You  smell  the   masses   of 
the  colza  in  blossom,  you   see   the   yellow   carpets  of 
ripe  corn  spotted  here  and  there  by  the  blue  coronets 
of  the  cornflower,  and  rapt  by  the   red   blaze   of  the 
poppy    beds    and    bathed    in    the    fresh    greenery   of 
the  landscape,  you  share  in  the   emotions  felt   by  the 
happy  party  in   the   country   cart.     And   yet   with   all 
his  vividness  of  description,  De  Maupassant  is  always 
sober  and  brief.     He  had   the   genius  of  condensation 
and   the   reserve  which   is   innate   in   power,    and   to 
his   reader  could   convey   as   much  in  a  paragraph  as 
could  be  expressed  in  a  page  by  many  of  his   prede- 
cessors and  contemporaries,  Flaubert  not  excepted. 

Apart  from  his  novels,  De  Maupassant's  tales  may 
be  arranged  under  three  heads:  Those  that  concern 
themselves  with  Norman  peasant  life;    those  that  deal 


XXxiv  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

with  Government  employees  (Maupassant  himself  had 
long  been  one)  and  the  Paris  middle  classes,  and 
those  that  represent  the  life  of  the  fashionable  world, 
as  well  as  the  weird  and  fantastic  ideas  of  the  later 
years  of  his  career.  Of  these  three  groups  the  tales 
of  the  Norman  peasantry  perhaps  rank  highest.  He 
depicts  the  Norman  farmer  in  surprisingly  free  and 
bold  strokes,  revealing  him  in  all  his  caution,  astute- 
ness, rough  gaiety,  and  homely  virtue. 

The  tragic  stage  of  De  Maupassant's  life  may,  I 
think,  be  set  down  as  beginning  just  before  the  drama 
of  "'Musotte"  was  issued,  in  conjunction  with  Jacques 
Normand,  in  189 1.  He  had  almost  given  up  the  hope 
of  interpreting  his  puzzles,  and  the  struggle  between 
the  falsity  of  the  life  which  surrounded  him  and  the 
nobler  visions  which  possessed  him  was  wearing  him 
out.  Doubtless  he  resorted  to  unwise  methods  for  the 
dispelling  of  physical  lassitude  or  for  surcease  from 
troubling  mental  problems.  To  this  period  belong  such 
weird  and  horrible  fancies  as  are  contained  in  the  short 
stories  known  as  "He"  and  "The  Diary  of  a  Mad- 
man." Here  and  there,  we  know,  were  rising  in 
him  inklings  of  a  finer  and  less  sordid  attitude  'twixt 
man  and  woman  throughout  the  world  and  of  a  purer 
constitution  of  existing  things  which  no  exterior  force 
should  blemish  or  destroy.  But  with  these  yearningly 
prophetic  gleams  came  a  period  of  mental  death. 
Then  the  physical  veil  was  torn  aside  and  for  Guy 
de  Maupassant  the  riddle  of  existence  was  answered. 


MADEMOISELLE  FIFI 


■  HE  Major  Graf*  von  Farlsberg,  the 
Prussian  commandant,  was  reading 
his  newspaper,  lying  back  in  a  great 
armchair,  with  his  booted  feet  on 
the  beautiful  marble  fireplace,  where 
his  spurs  had  made  two  holes,  which 
grew  deeper  every  day,  during  the  three 
months  that  he  had  been  in  the  chateau 
of  Urville. 
A  cup  of  coffee  was  smoking  on  a  small, 
inlaid  table,  which  was  stained  with  liquors, 
burnt  by  cigars,  notched  by  the  penknife  of 
the  victorious  officer,  who  occasionally  would 
stop  while  sharpening  a  pencil,  to  jot  down  fig- 
ures, or  to  make  a  drawing  on  it,  just  as  it  took  his 
fancy. 

When  he  had  read  his  letters  and  the  German 
newspapers,  which  his  baggage-master  had  brought 
him,  he  got  up,  and  after  throwing  three  or  four 
enormous  pieces  of  green  wood  on  to  the  fire — for 
these  gentlemen  were  gradually  cutting  down  the 
park    in    order    to    keep    themselves  warm — he    went 


*  Count. 

Maup.  1- 


(I) 


2  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

to  the  window.  The  rain  was  descending  in  tor- 
rents, a  regular  Normandy  rain,  which  looked  as  if 
it  were  being  poured  out  by  some  furious  hand,  a 
slanting  rain,  which  was  as  thick  as  a  curtain,  and 
which  formed  a  kind  of  wall  with  oblique  stripes, 
and  which  deluged  everything,  a  regular  rain,  such  as 
one  frequently  experiences  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Rouen,  which  is  the  watering-pot  of  France. 

For  a  long  time  the  officer  looked  at  the  sodden 
turf,  and  at  the  swollen  Andelle  beyond  it,  which 
was  overflowing  its  banks,  and  he  was  drumming 
a  waltz  from  the  Rhine  on  the  window-panes,  with 
his  fingers,  when  a  noise  made  him  turn  round;  it 
was  his  second  in  command,  Captain  Baron  von  Kel- 
weinstein. 

The  major  was  a  giant,  with  broad  shoulders, 
and  a  long,  fair  beard,  which  hung  like  a  cloth  on 
to  his  chest.  His  whole,  solemn  person  suggested  the 
idea  of  a  military  peacock,  a  peacock  who  was 
carrying  his  tail  spread  out  on  to  his  breast.  He 
had  cold,  gentle,  blue  eyes,  and  the  scar  from  a 
sword-cut,  which  he  had  received  in  the  war  with 
Austria;  he  was  said  to  be  an  honorable  man,  as 
well  as  a  brave  officer. 

The  captain,  a  short,  red-faced  man,  who  was 
tightly  girthed  in  at  the  waist,  had  his  red  hair 
cropped  quite  close  to  his  head,  and  in  certain  lights 
almost  looked  as  if  he  had  been  rubbed  over  with 
phosphorus.  He  had  lost  two  front  teeth  one  night, 
though  he  could  not  quite  remember  how.  This  de- 
fect made  him  speak  so  that  he  could  not  always  be 
understood,  and  he  had  a  bald  patch  on  the  top  of 
his  head,  which  made  him  look  rather  like  a  monk. 


MADEMOISELLE    FIFl  3 

with  a  fringe  of  curly,  bright,  golden  hair  round  the 
circle  of  bare  skin. 

The  commandant  shook  hands  with  him,  and 
drank  his  cup  of  coffee  (the  sixth  that  morning)  at 
a  draught,  while  he  listened  to  his  subordinate's 
report  of  what  had  occurred;  and  then  they  both 
went  to  the  window,  and  declared  that  it  was  a 
very  unpleasant  outlook..  The  major,  who  was  a 
quiet  man,  with  a  wife  at  home,  could  accommodate 
himself  to  everything;  but  the  captain,  who  was 
rather  fast,  being  in  the  habit  of  frequenting  low 
resorts,  and  much  given  to  women,  was  mad  at  hav- 
ing been  shut  up  for  three  months  in  the  compulsory 
chastity  of  that  wretched  hole. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  when  the 
commandant  said,  "Come  in,"  one  of  their  auto- 
matic soldiers  appeared,  and  by  his  mere  presence 
announced  that  breakfast  was  ready,  in  the  dining- 
room,  they  met  three  other  officers  of  lower  rank  : 
a  lieutenant,  Otto  von  Grossling,  and  two  sub- 
lieutenants, Fritz  Scheunebarg,  and  Count  von  Eyrick, 
a  very  short,  fair-haired  man,  who  was  proud  and 
brutal  toward  men,  harsh  toward  prisoners,  and  very 
violent. 

Since  he  had  been  in  France,  his  comrades  had 
called  him  nothing  but  "Mademoiselle  Fifi."  They 
had  given  him  that  nickname  on  account  of  his 
dandified  style  and  small  waist,  which  looked  as  if 
he  wore  slays,  from  his  pale  face,  on  which  his  bud- 
ding mustache  scarcely  showed,  and  on  account 
of  the  habit  he  had  acquired  of  employing  the  French 
expression,  fi,  fi  done,  which    he    pronounced    with 


4  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

a  slight  whistle,  when  he  wished  to  express  hu» 
sovereign  contempt  for  persons  or  things. 

The  dining-room  of  the  chateau  was  a  magnificent 
long  room,  whose  fine  old  mirrors,  now  cracked  by 
pistol  bullets,  and  Flemish  tapestry,  now  cut  to  rib- 
bons and  hanging  in  rags  in  places,  from  sword-cuts, 
told  too  well  what  Mademoiselle  Fifi's  occupation 
was  during  his  spare  time. 

There  were  three  flimily  portraits  on  the  walls  ;  a 
steel-clad  knight,  a  cardinal,  and  a  judge,  who  were 
all  smoking  long  porcelain  pipes,  which  had  been  in- 
serted into  holes  in  the  canvas,  while  a  lady  in  a  long, 
pointed  waist  proudly  exhibited  an  enormous  pair 
of  mustaches,  drawn  with  a  piece  of    charcoal. 

The  officers  ate  their  breakfast  almost  in  silence  in 
that  mutilated  room,  which  looked  dull  in  the  rain, 
and  melancholy  under  its  vanquished  appearance, 
although  its  old,  oak  floor  had  become  as  solid  as 
the  stone  floor  of  a  public-house. 

When  they  had  finished  eating,  and  were  smok- 
ing and  drinking,  they  began,  as  usual,  to  talk  about 
the  dull  life  they  were  leading.  The  bottles  of  brandy 
and  of  liquors  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  all  sat 
back  in  their  chairs,  taking  repeated  sips  from  their 
glasses,  and  scarcely  removing  the  long,  bent  stems, 
which  terminated  in  china  bowls  painted  in  a  manner 
to  delight  a  Hottentot,  from  their  mouths. 

As  soon  as  their  glasses  were  empty,  they  filled 
them  again,  with  a  gesture  of  resigned  weariness, 
but  Mademoiselle  Fifi  emptied  his  every  minute,  and 
a  soldier  immediately  gave  him  another.  They  were 
enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  strong  tobacco   smoke  ;   they 


MADEMOISELLE  FIFI  5 

seemed  to  be  sunk  in  a  state  of  drowsy,  stupid  in- 
toxication, in  that  dull  state  of  drunkenness  of  men 
who  have  nothing  to  do,  when  suddenly,  the  baron 
sat  up,  and  said:  "By  heavens!  This  cannot  go  on; 
we  must  think  of  something  to  do."  And  on  hear- 
ing this,  Lieutenant  Otto  and  Sub-lieutenant  Fritz,  who 
pre-eminently  possessed  the  grave,  heavy  German 
countenance,  said:     "What,  Captain?" 

He  thought  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  replied: 
"What?  Well,  we  must  get  up  some  entertainment, 
if  the  commandant  will  allow   us." 

"What  sort  of  an  entertainment,  captain?"  the 
major  asked,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 

"I  will  arrange  all  that,  commandant,"  the  baron 
said.  "I  will  send  Le  Devoir  to  Rouen,  who  will 
bring  us  some  ladies.  I  know  where  they  can  be 
found.  We  will  have  supper  here,  as  all  the  mate- 
rials are  at  hand,  and,  at  least,  we  shall  have  a  jolly 
evening." 

Graf  von  Farlsberg  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  a 
smile:     "You  must  surely  be  mad,  my  friend." 

But  all  the  other  officers  got  up,  surrounded  their 
chief,  and  said:  "Let  the  captain  have  his  own 
way,  commandant  ;  it  is  terribly  dull  here." 

And  the  major  ended  by  yielding.  "Very  well," 
he  replied,  and  the  baron  immediately  sent  for  Le 
Devoir. 

The  latter  was  an  old  corporal  who  had  never 
been  seen  to  smile,  but  who  carried  out  all  the  orders 
of  his  superiors  to  the  letter,  no  matter  what  they 
might  be.  He  stood  there,  with  an  impassive  face, 
while  he  received  the  baron's  instructions,  and  then 
went  out;  five  minutes  later  a  large  wagon  belonging 


5  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

to  the  military  train,  covered  witli  a  miller's  tilt,  gal- 
loped off  as  fast  as  four  horses  could  take  it,  under 
the  pouring  rain,  and  the  officers  all  seemed  to 
awaken  from  their  lethargy,  their  looks  brightened, 
and  they  began  to  talk. 

Although  it  was  raining  as  hard  as  ever,  the  major 
declared  that  it  was  not  so  dull,  and  Lieutenant  von 
Grossling  said  with  conviction,  that  the  sky  was  clear- 
ing up,  while  Mademoiselle  Fifi  did  not  seem  to  be 
able  to  keep  in  his  place.  He  got  up,  and  sat  down 
again,  and  his  bright  eyes  seemed  to  be  looking  for 
something  to  destroy.  Suddenly,  looking  at  the  lady 
with  the  mustaches,  the  young  fellow  pulled  out  his 
revolver,  and  said:  "You  shall  not  see  it."  And 
without  leaving  his  seat  he  aimed,  and  with  two  suc- 
cessive bullets  cut  out   both  the  eyes  of  the  portrait. 

"Let  us  make  a  mine!"  he  then  exclaimed,  and  the 
conversation  was  suddenly  interrupted,  as  if  they  had 
found  some  fresh  and  powerful  subject  of  interest. 
The  mine  was  his  invention,  his  method  of  destruc- 
tion, and  his  favorite  amusement. 

When  he  left  the  chateau,  the  lawful  owner.  Count 
Fernand  d'Amoys  d'Urville,  had  not  had  time  to  carry 
away  or  to  hide  anything,  except  the  plate,  which  had 
been  stowed  away  in  a  hole  made  in  one  of  the  walls, 
so  that,  as  he  was  very  rich  and  had  good  taste,  the 
large  drawing-room,  which  opened  into  the  dining- 
room,  had  looked  like  the  gallery  in  a  museum,  before 
his  precipitate  flight. 

Expensive  oil-paintings,  water-colors,  and  drawings 
hung  upon  the  walls,  while  on  the  tables,  on  the  hang- 
ing shelves,  and  in  elegant  glass  cupboards,  there  were 
a    thousand     knickknacks :     small    vases,    statuettes. 


MADEMOISELLE    FIFI  y 

groups  in  Dresden  china,  grotesque  Chinese  figures, 
old  ivory,  and  Venetian  glass,  which  tilled  the  large 
room  with  their  precious  and  fantastical  array. 

Scarcely  anything  was  L-lt  no\v;  not  that  the  things 
had  been  stolen,  for  the  major  would  not  have  allowed 
that,  but  Mademoiselle  Fill  zi'oiiIJ  have  a  mine,  and 
on  that  occasion  all  the  officers  thoroughly  enjoyed 
themselves  for  five  minutes.  The  little  marquis  went 
into  the  drawing-room  to  get  what  he  wanted,  and  he 
brought  back  a  small,  delicate  china  teapot,  which  he 
filled  with  gunpowder,  and  carefully  introduced  a 
piece  of  German  tinder  into  it,  through  the  spout. 
Then  he  lighted  it,  and  took  this  infernal  machine 
into  the  next  room;  but  he  came  back  immediately, 
and  shut  the  door.  The  Germans  all  stood  expect- 
antly, their  faces  full  of  childish,  smiling  curiosity,  and 
as  soon  as  the  explosion  had  shaken  the  chateau,  they 
all  rushed  in  at  once. 

Mademoiselle  Fifi,  who  got  in  first,  clapped  his 
hands  in  delight  at  the  sight  of  a  terra-cotta  Venus, 
whose  head  had  been  blown  off,  and  each  picked  up 
pieces  of  porcelain,  and  wondered  at  the  strange 
shape  of  the  fragments,  while  the  major  was  looking 
with  a  paternal  eye  at  the  large  drawing-room  which 
had  been  wrecked  in  such  a  Neronic  fashion,  and 
v/hich  was  strewn  with  the  fragments  of  works  of 
art.  He  went  out  first,  and  said,  with  a  smile:  "He 
managed  that  very  well!" 

But  there  was  such  a  cloud  of  smoke  in  the  dining- 
room,  mingled  with  the  tobacco  smoke,  that  they  could 
not  breathe,  so  the  commandant  opened  the  window, 
and  all  the  officers,  who  had  gone  into  the  room  for 
a  glass  of  cognac,  went  up  to  it. 


8  WORKS  OF  GU.Y  DE  MAUPASSANT 

The  moist  air  blew  into  the  room,  and  brought  a 
sort  of  spray  with  it,  which  powdered  their  beards. 
They  looked  at  the  tall  trees  which  were  dripping  with 
the  rain,  at  the  broad  valley  which  was  covered  with 
mist,  and  at  the  church  spire  in  the  distance,  which 
rose  up  like  a  gray  point  in  the  beating  rain. 

The  bells  had  not  rung  since  their  arrival.  That 
was  the  only  resistance  which  the  invaders  had  met 
with  in  the  neighborhood.  The  parish  priest  had 
not  refused  to  take  in  and  to  feed  the  Prussian  sol 
diers;  he  had  several  times  even  drunk  a  bottle  4 
beer  or  claret  with  the  hostile  commandant,  wl  o 
often  employed  him  as  a  benevolent  intermediary; 
but  it  was  no  use  to  ask  him  for  a  single  stroke  of 
the  bells;  he  would  sooner  have  allowed  himself  to 
be  shot.  That  was  his  way  of  protesting  against 
the  invasion,  a  peaceful  and  silent  protest,  the  only 
one,  he  said,  which  was  suitable  to  a  priest,  who 
was  a  man  of  mildness,  and  not  of  blood;  and  every- 
one, for  twenty-five  miles  round,  praised  Abbe  Chan- 
tavoine's  firmness  and  heroism,  in  venturing  to  pro- 
claim the  public  mourning  by  the  obstinate  silence 
of  his  church   bells. 

The  whole  village  grew  enthusiastic  over  his  resist- 
ance, and  was  ready  to  back  up  their  pastor  and  to 
risk  anything,  as  they  looked  upon  that  silent  protest 
as  the  safeguard  of  the  national  honor.  It  seemed  to 
the  peasants  that  thus  they  had  deserved  better  of 
their  country  than  Belfort  and  Strassburg,  that  they 
had  set  an  equally  valuable  example,  and  that  the 
name  of  their  little  village  would  become  immor- 
talized by  that;  but  with  that  exception,  they  refused 
their  Prussian  conquerors  nothing. 


MADEMOISELLE  FIFl  9 

The  commandant  and  his  officers  laughed  among 
themselves  at  that  inoffensive  courage,  and  as  the 
people  in  the  whole  country  round  showed  them- 
selves obliging  and  compliant  toward  them,  they  will- 
ingly tolerated  their  silent  patriotism.  Only  little 
Count  Wilhelm  would  have  liked  to  have  forced 
them  to  ring  the  bells.  He  was  very  angry  at  his 
superior's  politic  compliance  with  the  priest's  scruples, 
and  every  day  he  begged  the  commandant  to  allow 
him  to  sound  "ding-dong,  ding-dong,"  just  once, 
only  just  once,  just  by  way  of  a  joke.  And  he  asked 
it  like  a  wheedling  woman,  in  the  tender  voice  of 
some  mistress  who  wishes  to  obtain  something,  but 
the  commandant  would  not  yield,  and  to  console  Jier- 
self,  Mademoiselle  Fill  made  a  mine  in  the  chateau. 

The  five  men  stood  there  together  for  some 
minutes,  inhaling  the  moist  air,  and  at  last,  Lieu- 
tenant Fritz  said,  with  a  laugh:  "The  ladies  will 
certainly  not  have  fine  weather  for  their  drive." 
Then  they  separated,  each  to  his  own  duties,  while 
the  captain  had  plenty  to  do  in  seeing  about  the 
dinner. 

When  they  met  again,  as  it  was  growing  dark, 
they  began  to  laugh  at  seeing  each  other  as  dandi- 
fied and  smart  as  on  the  day  of  a  grand  review. 
The  commandant's  hair  did  not  look  as  gray  as  it 
did  in  the  morning,  and  the  captain  had  shaved — 
had  only  kept  his  mustache  on,  which  made  him 
look  as  if  he  had  a  streak  of  fire  under  his  nose. 

In  spite  of  the  rain,  they  left  the  window  open, 
and  one  of  them  went  to  listen  from  time  to  time. 
At  a  quarter  past  six  the  baron  said  he  heard  a  rum- 
bling in   the   distance.     They    all   rushed   down,    and 


lO  V/ORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

soon  the  wagon  drove  up  at  a  gallop  with  its  four 
horses,  splashed  up  to  their  backs,  steaming  and  pant- 
ing. Five  women  got  out  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps, 
five  handsome  girls  whom  a  comrade  of  the  captain, 
to  whom  Le  Devoir  had  taken  his  card,  had  selected 
with  care. 

They  had  not  required  much  pressing,  as  they  were 
sure  of  being  well  treated,  for  they  had  got  to  know 
the  Prussians  in  the  three  months  during  which  they 
had  had  to  do  with  tliem.  So  thev  resigned  them- 
selves  to  the  men  as  they  did  to  the  state  of  affairs. 
*'It  is  part  of  our  business,  so  it  must  be  done," 
they  said  as  they  drove  along;  no  doubt  to  allay 
some  slight,  "secret  scruples  of  conscience. 

They  went  into  the  dining-room  immediately, 
which  looked  still  more  dismal  in  its  dilapidated 
state,  when  it  was  lighted  up;  while  the  table  cov- 
ered with  choice  dishes,  the  beautiful  china  and 
glass,  and  the  plate,  which  had  been  found  in  the 
hole  in  the  wall  where  its  owner  had  hidden  it,  gave 
to  the  place  the  look  of  a  bandits'  resort,  where  they 
were  supping  after  committing  a  robbery.  The  cap- 
tain was  radiant;  he  took  hold  of  the  women  as  if  he 
were  familiar  with  them;  appraising  them,  kissing 
them,  valuing  them  for  what  they  were  worth  as 
ladies  of  pleasure;  and  when  the  three  young  men 
wanted  to  appropriate  one  each,  he  opposed  them 
autnoritatively,  reserving  to  himself  the  right  to  appor- 
tion them  justly,  according  to  their  several  ranks,  so 
as  not  to  wound  the  hierarchy.  Therefore,  so  as  to 
avoid  all  discussion,  jarring,  and  suspicion  of  partiality, 
he  placed  them  all  in  a  line  according  to  height,  and 
addressing  the  tallest,  he  said  in  a  voice  of  command: 


MADEMOISELLE     FIFI  II 

"What  is  your  name?" 
''Pamela,"  she  replied,  raising  her  voice. 
Then    he    said:  "Number    One,  called    Pamela,    is 
adjudged  to  the  commandant." 

Then,  having  kissed  Blondina,  the  second,  as  a  sign 
of  proprietorship,  he  proffered  stout  Amanda  to  Lieu- 
tenant Otto,  Eva,  -the  Tomato,"  to  Sub-lieutenant 
Fritz,  and  Rachel,  the  shortest  of  them  all,  a  very 
young,  dark  girl,  with  eyes  as  black  as  ink,  a  Jewess, 
whose  snub  nose  confirmed  by  exception  the  rule 
which  allots  hooked  noses  to  all  her  race,  to  the 
youngest  officer,  frail  Count  Wilhelm  von  Eyrick. 

Thev  were  all  pretty  and  plump,  without  any  dis- 
tinctive  features,    and    all  were    very    much    ahke    in 
look     and    person,  from   their  daily    dissipation,    and 
the    life    common    to    houses    of   public    accommoda- 
tion. „    ,    . 
The  three  younger   men  wished  to    carry  ott  tneir 
women    immediately,    under    the    pretext    of   finding 
them    brushes     and    soap;     but     the    captain    wisely 
opposed    this,  for   he  said    they  were    quite  fit  to    si 
down  to  dinner,  and  that  those  who  went  up  w'ould 
wish  for    a    change  when    they  came    down,  and    so 
would  disturb    the  other    couples,  and    his  experience 
in   such    matters  carried    the    day.     There   were   only 
many  kisses;  expectant  kisses. 

Suddenlv  Rachel  choked,  and  began  to  cough 
until  the  te'ars  came  into  her  eyes,  while  smoke  came 
through  her  nostrils.  Under  pretense  of  kissing  her, 
the  count  had  blown  a  whiff  of  tobacco  into  her 
mouth.  She  did  not  fly  into  a  rage,  and  did  not  say 
a  word,  but  she  looked  at  her  possessor  with  latent 
hatred  in  her  dark  eyes. 


12  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

They  sat  down  to  dinner.  The  commandant 
seemed  delighted;  he  made  Pamela  sit  on  his  right, 
and  Blondina  on  his  left,  and  said,  as  he  unfolded  his 
table  napkin:  "That  was  a  delightful  idea  of  yours, 
captain." 

Lieutenants  Otto  and  Fritz,  who  were  as  polite  as 
if  they  had  been  with  fashionable  ladies,  rather  intimi- 
dated their  neighbors,  but  Baron  von  Kelweinstein 
gave  the  reins  to  all  his  vicious  propensities,  beamed, 
made  doubtful  remarks,  and  seemed  on  fire  with  his 
crown  of  red  hair.  He  paid  them  compliments  in 
French  from  the  other  side  of  the  Rhine,  and  sput- 
tered out  gallant  remarks,  only  fit  for  a  low  pot- 
house, from  between  his  two  broken  teeth. 

They  did  not  understand  him,  however,  and  their 
intelligence  did  not  seem  to  be  av/akened  until  he 
uttered  nasty  words  and  broad  expressions,  which 
were  mangled  by  his  accent.  Then  all  began  to 
laugh  at  once,  like  mad  women,  and  fell  against  each 
other,  repeating  the  words,  which  the  baron  then 
began  to  say  all  wrong,  in  order  that  he  might  have 
the  pleasure  of  hearing  them  say  doubtful  things.  They 
gave  him  as  much  of  that  stuff  as  he  wanted,  for 
they  were  drunk  after  the  first  bottle  of  wine,  and, 
becoming  themselves  once  more,  and  opening  the 
door  to  their  usual  habits,  they  kissed  the  mustaches 
on  the  right  and  left  of  them,  pinched  their  arms, 
uttered  furious  cries,  drank  out  of  every  glass,  and 
sang  French  couplets,  and  bits  of  German  songs, 
which  they  had  picked  up  in  their  daily  intercourse 
with  the  enemy. 

Soon  the  men  themselves,  intoxicated  by  that 
which  was  displayed  to  their  sight  and   touch,   grew 


MADEMOISELLE  FIFI 


13 


very  amorous,  shouted  and  broke  the  plates  and 
dishes,  while  the  soldiers  behind  them  waited  on 
them  stolidly.  The  commandant  was  the  only  one 
who  put  any  restraint  upon   himself. 

Mademoiselle  Fifi  had  taken  Rachel  on  to  his 
knees,  and,  getting  excited,  at  one  moment  kissed 
the  little  black  curls  on  her  neck,  inhaling  the  pleas- 
ant warmth  of  her  body,  and  all  the  savor  of  her 
person,  through  the  slight  space  there  was  between 
her  dress  and  her  skin,  and  at  another  pinched  her 
furiously  through  the  material,  and  made  her  scream, 
for  he  was  seized  with  a  species  of  ferocity,  and  tor- 
mented by  his  desire  to  hurt  her.  He  often  held  her 
close  to  him,  as  if  to  make  her  part  of  himself,  and 
put  his  lips  in  a  long  kiss  on  the  Jewess's  rosy 
mouth,  until  she  lost  her  breath;  and  at  last  he  bit 
her  until  a  stream  of  blood  ran  down  her  chin  and 
on  to  her  bodice. 

For  the  second  time,  she  looked  him  full  in  the 
face,  and  as  she  bathed  the  wound,  she  said:  "You 
will  have  to  pay  for  that!" 

But  he  merely  laughed  a  hard  laugh,  and  said:  "I 
will  pay." 

At  dessert,  champagne  was  served,  and  the  com- 
mandant rose,  and  in  the  same  voice  in  which  he 
would  have  drunk  to  the  health  of  the  Empress 
Augusta,  he  drank:  "To  our  ladies!"  Then  a  series 
of  toasts  began,  toasts  worthy  of  the  lowest  soldiers 
and  of  drunkards,  mingled  with  filthy  jokes,  which 
were  made  still  more  brutal  by  their  ignorance  of  the 
language.  They  got  up,  one  after  the  other,  trying 
to  say  something  witty,  forcing  themselves  to  be 
funny,    and    the    women,    who    were   so   drunk   that 


M 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


they  almost  fell  off  their  chairs,  with  vacant  looks 
and  clammy  tongues,  applauded  madly  each  time. 

The  captain,  who  no  doubt  wished  to  impart  an 
appearance  of  gallantry  to  the  orgy,  raised  his  glass 
again,  and  said:  "To  our  victories  over  hearts!" 
Thereupon  Lieutenant  Otto,  who  was  a  species  of 
bear  from  the  Black  Forest,  jumped  up,  inflamed  and 
saturated  with  drink,  and  seized  by  an  access  of 
alcoholic  patriotism,  cried:  "To  our  victories  over 
France!" 

Drunk  as  they  were,  the  women  were  silent,  and 
Rachel  turned  round  with  a  shudder,  and  said: 
"Look  here,  I  know  some  Frenchmen,  in  whose 
presence  you  would  not  dare  to  say  that."  But  the 
little  count,  still  holding  her  on  his  knees,  began  to 
laugh,  for  the  wine  had  made  him  very  merry,  and 
said:  "Ha!  ha!  ha!  I  have  never  met  any  of  them, 
myself.  As  soon  as  we  show  ourselves,  they  run 
av/ay! " 

The  girl,  who  was  in  a  terrible  rage,  shouted  into 
his  face:  "You  are  lying,  you  dirty  scoundrel!" 

For  a  moment,  he  looked  at  her  steadily,  with  his 
bright  eyes  upon  her,  as  he  had  looked  at  the 
portrait  before  he  destroyed  it  with  revolver  bullets, 
and  then  he  began  to  laugh:  "Ah!  yes,  talk  about 
them,  my  dear!  Should  we  be  here  now,  if  they  were 
brave?"  Then  getting  excited,  he  exclaimed:  "We 
are  the  masters!  France  belongs  to  us!"  She  jumped 
off  his  knees  with  a  bound,  and  threw  herself  into 
her  chair,  while  he  rose,  held  out  his  glass  over  the 
table,  and  repeated:  "France  and  the  French,  the 
woods,  the  fields,  and  the  houses  of  France  belong 
to  us!" 


MADEiMOISELLE     FIFI 


15 


The  others,  who  were  quite  drunk,  and  who  were 
suddenly  seized  by  mihtary  enthusiasm,  the  enthusiasm 
of  brutes,  seized  their  ghisscs,  and  shouting,  "Long 
live  Prussia!"  emptied  them  at  a  draught. 

The  girls  did  not  protest,  for  they  were  reduced  to 
silence,  and  were  afraid.  Hvcn  Rachel  did  not.  say  a 
W'Ord,  as  she  had  no  reply  to  make,  and  then  the 
little  count  put  his  champagne  glass,  which  had 
just  been  refilled,  on  to  the  head  of  the  Jewess,  and 
exclaimed:  "All  the  women  in  France  belong  to  us, 
also!" 

At  that  she  got  up  so  quickly  that  the  glass  upset, 
spilling  the  amber  eolorcd  wine  on  to  her  black  hair 
as  if  to  baptize  her,  and  broke  into  a  hundred  frag- 
ments as  it  fell  on  to  the  floor.  V/ith  trembling  lips, 
she  defied  the  looks  of  the  officer,  who  was  still  laugh- 
ing, and  she  stammered  out,  in  a  voice  choked  with 
rage:  "That  —  that  —  that  —  is  not  true, — for  you  shall 
certainly  not  have  any  French  women." 

He  sat  down  again,  so  as  to  laugh  at  his  ease,  and 
trying  ineffectually  to  speak  in  the  Parisian  accent,  he 
said:  "That  is  good,  very  good!  Then  what  did  you 
come  here  for,  my  dear?" 

She  was  thunderstruck,  and  made  no  reply  for  a 
moment,  for  in  her  agitation  she  did  not  understand 
him  at  (Irst;  but  as  soon  as  she  grasped  his  mean- 
ing, she  said  to  him  indignantly  and  vehemently:  "I! 
I!  I  am  not  a  woman;  1  am  only  a  strumpet,  and  that 
is  all  that  Prussians  want." 

Almost  before  she  had  finished,  he  slapped  her  full 
in  her  face;  but  as  he  was  raising  his  hand  again,  as 
if  he  would  strike  her,  she,  almost  mad  with  passion, 
took  up  a  small  dessert  knife  from  the  table,  and  stabbed 


|6  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSATH 

him  right  in  the  neck,  just  above  the  breastbone. 
Something  that  he  was  going  to  say,  was  cut  short  in 
his  throat,  and  he  sat  there,  with  his  mouth  half  open, 
and  a  terrible  look  in  his  eyes. 

All  the  officers  shouted  in  horror,  and  leaped  up 
tumultuously;  but  throwing  her  chair  between  Lieu- 
tenant Otto's  legs,  who  fell  down  at  full  length,  she 
ran  to  the  window,  opened  it  before  they  could  seize 
her,  and  jumped  out  into  the  night  and  pouring  rain. 

In  two  minutes,  Mademoiselle  Fifi  was  dead. 
Fritz  and  Otto  drew  their  swords  and  wanted  to  kill 
the  women,  who  threw  themselves  at  their  feet  and 
clung  to  their  knees.  With  some  difficulty  the  major 
stopped  the  slaughter,  and  had  the  four  terrified  girls 
locked  up  in  a  room  under  the  care  of  two  soldiers. 
Then  he  organized  the  pursuit  of  the  fugitive,  as  care- 
fully as  if  he  were  about  to  engage  in  a  skirmish, 
feeling  quite  sure  that  she  would  be  caught. 

The  table,  which  had  been  cleared  immediately, 
now  served  as  a  bed  on  which  to  lay  Fifi  out,  and 
the  four  officers  made  for  the  window,  rigid  and 
sobered,  with  the  stern  faces  of  soldiers  on  duty,  and 
tried  to  pierce  through  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
amid  the  steady  torrent  of  rain.  Suddenly,  a  shot 
was  heard,  and  then  another,  a  long  way  off;  and  for 
four  hours  they  heard,  from  time  to  time,  near  or  dis- 
tant reports  and  rallying  cries,  strange  words  uttered 
as  a  call,  in  guttural  voices. 

In  the  morning  they  all  returned.  Two  soldiers 
had  been  killed  and  three  others  wounded  by  their 
comrades  in  the  ardor  of  that  chase,  and  in  the  con- 
fusion of  such  a  nocturnal  pursuit,  but  they  had  not 
caught  Rachel. 


T'/!A.'e.-;/MADEMaiBELlJE-  FJFI   Sf>iOW  i^ 

'■■^Then  the  inliabitants  of  the  district  were  tercor-^ 
Ized,  tiie  houses  were  turned  topsy-turvy,  the  countTy 
was  scoured  and  beaten  up,  ov€r  and  over  'againi  but 
the  Jewess  did '  not ; seem  toi '  have^ ^ left i  a i  ^single. ^ti-aee 
of  her  passage  behind  heri^sb  ti->/,?7iirl  hru;  .i\u^  .:'f)At-;d 

When  the  general  iwas  told  of -it,  he  gave  order*^ 
to  hush' up  the  affair,  feo'a^'nnbt 'to  iet  ia  'bad  example 
to  the  army,  but  he  severely  censured' -the' comm.an- 
dant,  who  in  turn  punished  his  inferiors.  The  general 
had  said:  "One  does  not  go  to  war  in  order  to 
amuse  oneself,  and  to  caress  prostitutes:''  And  Graf 
von  Farlsberg,  in  his  exasperation;  made  up  his  mrnd 
to  have  his  revenge  on  the  dist'rlct;;bOt'ds 'he  required 
a  pretext  for  showing  severity,  he  sent  for  the  priest, 
and  ordered  him  to  have  the  bell  tolled  at  the  funeral 
of  Count  von  Eyrick. 

Contrary  to  all  expectation,  the  priest  showed  him- 
self humble  and  most  respectful,  and  when  Made- 
moiselle Fifi's  body  left  the  Chateau  d'Urville  on  its 
way  to  the  cemetery,  carried  by  soldiers,  preceded,  sur- 
rounded, and  follov/ed  by  soldiers,  who  marched  with 
loaded  rifles,  for  the  first  time  the  bell  sounded  its 
funereal  knell  in  a  lively  manner,  as  if  a  friendly  hand 
were  caressing  it.  At  night  it  sounded  again,  and 
the  next  day.  and  every  day;  it  rang  as  much  as  any- 
one could  desire.  Sometimes  even,  it  would  start  at 
night,  and  sound  gently  through  the  darkness,  seized 
by  strange  joy,  awakened,  one  could  not  tell  why. 
All  the  peasants  in  the  neighborhood  declared  that  it 
was  bewitched,  and  nobody,  except  the  priest  and 
the  sacristan  would  now  go  near  the  church  tower, 
and  they  went  because  a  poor  girl  was  living  there 
Mail  p.  1—2 


l8  WORKS  OF    GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

in  grief  and  solitude,  secretly  nourished  by  those  two 
men. 

She  remained  there  until  the  German  troops  de- 
parted, and  then  one  evening  the  priest  borrowed  the 
baker's  cart,  and  himself  drove  his  prisoner  to  Rouen. 
When  they  got  there,  he  embraced  her,  and  she 
quickly  went  back  on  foot  to  the  establishment  from 
•which  she  had  come,  where  the  proprietress,  who 
thought  that  she  was  dead,  was  very  glad  to  see  her. 

A  short  time  afterward,  a  patriot  who  had  no 
prejudices,  who  liked  her  because  of  her  bold  deed, 
and  who  afterward  loved  her  for  herself,  married  her, 
and  made  a  lady  of  her. 


AN    AFFAIR   OF   STATE 


0"'^  l~^ARis  had  just  heard  of  the  disaster 
^^ff^^ 1^  of  Sedan.  The  Republic  was  pro- 
claimed. All  France  was  panting 
from  a  madness  that  lasted  until  the 
time  of  the  Commonwealth.  Every- 
body was  playing  at  soldier  from  one 
end  of  the  country  to  the  other. 
Capmakers  became  colonels,  assuming 
the  duties  of  generals  ;  revolvers  and 
daggers  were  displayed  on  large  rotund 
j^,  bodies,  enveloped  in  red  sashes:  common  citi- 
W'  zens  turned  warriors,  commanding  battalions  of 
'^  noisy  volunteers,  and  swearing  like  troopers  to 
^    emphasize  their  importance. 

The  ve.'-y  fact  of  bearing  arms  and  handling  guns 
with  a  system  excited  a  people  who  hitherto  had 
only  handled  scales  and  measures,  and  made  them 
formidable  to  the  first  comer,  without  reason.  I'hey 
even  executed  a  few  innocent  people  to  prove  that 
they  knew  how  to  kill;  and,  in  roaming  through  vir- 
gin fields  still  belonging  to  the  Prussians,  they  shot 
stray  dogs,  cows  chewing  the   cud   in  peace,  or  sick 

(19) 


20  WORKS  OF  GuY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

liorse*;  put  out  to  pasture.  Each  believed  himself  called 
upon  to  play  a  great  role  in  military  affairs.  The 
cafes  of  the  smallest  villages,  full  of  tradesmen  in 
uniform,  resembled  barracks  or  tield  hospitals. 

Now,  the  town  of  Canneville  did  not  yet  know 
the  exciting  news  of  the  army  and  the  Capital.  It 
had,  however,  been  greatly  agitated  for  a  month  over 
an  encounter  between  the  rival  political  parties.  l\\<i 
mayor,  Viscouitiit  de  jVarnetot,  a  ,sraa|l,  thin  man» 
already  old',  remained  'tme  to  'the  Eitipi're,  especially 
since  he  saw  rising  up  against  him  a  powerful  adver- 
sary, in  the  greatj,  sanguine  form  of  Doctor  Massarel, 
head  of  the  Republican  pdrty^ih' the  district,  venerable 
chief  of  the -Masoriic' lodge,  president"' of  the  Society 
of 'Agriculture  '  arid  '  o^  the"  Fi'rfe'  Department,  and 
orgariizer  of'  the '  rural  rnihtia  designed  to  save  the 
country.  - 

"In  two  weeks  he  had  iriduted  sixty-thi-ee' men,  to 
volunteer  ih'"defens'6-  of  'tHeit  country'^ married  men, 
fathers  of  falnili^s,  pi^uddnt  farhie^s  iin'd  merchants  ot 
the  toWn.  '  These  h^  drillecl  evet^y  hiorhin^  iq  front 
of'ihe'maydi'"s  window!.    .  ,        '  ■      ,'    , 

'  Whenever  the  mayor  happened  '^o  ap^edf,  Com- 
rtiandei-  Massarel;  covered  with  pistols',  passing  proudly 
uji  and'  down'  In  front  of 'his  trobi3s,'''"^ould  make 
them  shout,  "Long  hve  our  country!"'  Arid  this,  they 
n6'ticed,  •dis'turbfid'  the  little  viscount,  A^ho  no  doubt 
hedrdiii  it'  menace  and  defiance,  and  perhaps  some 
Odious  t^etbllection  of  the  great  Revolution.  •*■•     •    v'-'^' 

■  On  the  mornirig  of  the  fifth  of  Septembefj''ii*i^UHi-' 
fbi'm,  his  revolver  on  the  table,  the  doctor  gave  con- 
SLlltati'on  to  an  old' peasant  couple.  Thehusband  had' 
buffered  With '^^  varicose  Wein  fdr  seven  years,  but  had 


'^'^'>^'    AN    AFFAIR    OF    SI M^.^ ^^""^^  M 

«sraitea  u'ritil  hfs  wife  had  one  too;  so  that'  th^ytVifgtvt 
^o  and  hunt  up  a  physician  together, 'guided  by nhe 
postman  when  he  should  come  with  the  ne^'spaper. 
Dr.  Massarel  opened  the  door,  grew  'pale,  straight^ 
ehed  himself  abruptly  and,  raising  his  arms  to  heaven 
in  a  gesture  of  exaltation,  cried  out  With  all  his 
might,  in  the  face  6f  the  arnkz^d-mstics:  "'  <n;H' 

"Long  live  the  Republic!''  Long  live^ the  Republicl 

Long  live  the  Republic'!"' '■'''"  '    '••'»''•     -(i-i-ti'V^- j'. 

-Then    he   dropped   ifiib"' 'his  ■aT'm'dhail"''^^ak'^  with 

ehiotion.  '  -"'"-    ■■••  ■      '■-"'    ''^   ■  ''"  -  ■  "  " 

When  the  peasant  yxphirted'^lhiat  thfs '  sickness 
commenced  with  a  feeling  as  if  antfeWere'ru'nning  up 
and  down  in  his  legs,  the"dbctor'^^claimed':'"  Hold 
your  peace,  'r  have  spen^  'tbd"  rhucH  time  with ' you 
stupid  people.  The  Republic 'is  '  proclaimed  !•  'The 
Emperor  is  a  prisoner!  (France  is  saved!- Long' livfe 
the  Republic!"  And, 'funning  to  the  ^  dooi^, -he  bel- 
\6^ed:     "Celeste!    Quick!    Celeste! "i      '!>   '     •*' 

The  frightened  maid  hastened 'in.  ''5-16' stuttered,' ^so 
rapidly  did  he  try  'to  speak:  *'My  boots,  myi  saber 
—  niy  cartridge  box  — and  — the  Spanish  dagger, 
which  is  oh  my  high!  table.     Hurry  nowK-   •J^noqafc 

The  obstinate  peasant, 'taking 'advantage 'of  the 
moment's  silence,  began-again:  '/This  Seemed '  like 
some  cysts'  that  hurt  nle  When  I  walked. '^'^  < 

The  exasperated  physician  Shouted:  !  "Hdld'yoiiT 
peace!  For  Heaven's  sake!  If  you  had  Washed  your 
feet  oftener,  it  would  not  have  happened."^  Then, 
seizing  him  by  Xh6  neck,  he  hissed  in.^hi's  fgce: 
"Can  you  n6t  Cohipfehehd  that  we  are  living  in  a 
Republic,  stupid  ?'■*->•''-'  »J^Y  f-'^i     •'JI"^  o)  vMiiorituL  /Aii 

But  professional   sentiment  calmed   him   suddenly. 


22  WORKS   OF   GUV   DE   MAUPASSANT 

and  he  let  the  astonished  old  couple  out  of  the  house, 
repeating  all  the  time; 

"Return  to-morrow,  return  to-morrow,  my  friends: 
I  have  no  more  time  to-day." 

While  equipping  himself  from  head  to  foot,  he 
gave  another  series  of  urgent  orders  to  the  maid: 

"Run  to  Lieutenant  Picard's  and  to  Sub-lieutenant 
Pommers  and  say  to  them  that  I  want  them  here 
immediately.  Send  Torcheboeuf  to  me,  too,  with  his 
drum.  Quick,  now!  Quick!"  And  when  Celeste 
was  gone,  he  collected  his  thoughts  and  prepared  to 
surmount  the  difficulties  of  the  situation. 

The  three  men  arrived  together.  They  were  in 
their  working  clothes.  The  Commander,  who  had  ex- 
pected to  see  them  in  uniform,  had  a  fit  of  surprise. 

"You  know  nothing,  then?  The  Emperor  has 
been  taken  prisoner.  A  Republic  is  proclaimed.  My 
position  is  delicate,  not  to  say  perilous." 

He  reflected  for  some  minutes  before  the  aston- 
ished faces  of  his  subordinates  and  then  continued: 

"It  is  necessary  to  act,  not  to  hesitate.  Minutes 
now  are  worth  hours  at  other  times.  Evervthing 
depends  upon  promptness  of  decision.  You,  Picard. 
go  and  find  the  curate  and  get  him  to  ring  the  bell 
to  bring  the  people  together,  while  I  get  ahead  of 
them.  You,  Torcheboeuf,  beat  the  call  to  assemble 
the  militia  in  arms,  in  the  square,  from  even  as  far 
as  the  hamlets  of  Gerisaie  and  Salmare.  You,  Pommel, 
put  on  your  uniform  at  once,  that  is,  the  jacket  and 
cap.  We,  together,  are  going  to  take  possession  of 
the  mairie  and  summon  M.  de  Varnetot  to  transfer 
his  authority  to  me.     Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes." 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    STATE 


2^ 


"Act,  then,  and  promptly,  I  will  accompany  you 
to  your  house,  Pommel,  since  we  are  to  work 
together." 

Five  minutes  Inter,  the  Commander  and  his  sub- 
altern, armed  to  the  teeth,  appeared  in  the  square, 
just  at  the  moment  when  the  little  Viscount  de 
Varnetot,  with  hunting  gaiters  on  and  his  rifle  on  his 
shoulder,  appeared  by  another  street,  walking  rapidly 
and  followed  by  three  guards  in  green  jackets,  each 
carrying  a  knife  at  his  side  and  a  gun  over  his 
shoulder. 

While  the  doctor  stopped,  half  stupefied,  the  four 
men  entered  the  mayor's  house  and  the  door  closed 
behind  them. 

"We  are  forestalled,"  murmured  the  doctor;  "it 
will  be  necessary  now  to  wait  for  re-enforcements; 
nothing  can  be  done  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

Here  Lieutenant  Picard  appeared:  "The  curate 
refuses  to  obey,"  said  he;  "he  has  even  shut  himself 
up  in  the  church  with  the  beadle  and  the  porter." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  square,  opposite  the 
white,  closed  front  of  the  mai'rie,  the  church,  mute 
and  black,  showed  its  great  oak  door  with  the 
wrought-iron  trimmings. 

Then,  as  the  puzzled  inhabitants  put  their  noses 
out  of  the  windows,  or  came  out  upon  the  steps  of 
their  houses,  the  rolling  of  a  drum  was  heard,  and 
Torcheboeuf  suddenly  appeared,  beating  with  fury  the 
three  quick  strokes  of  the  call  to  arms.  He  crossed 
the  square  with  disciplined  step,  and  then  disappeared 
on  a  road  leading  to  the  country. 

The  Commander  drew  his  sword,  advanced  alone 
to    the    middle    distance    between    the    two   buildings 


24^ 


WORKS.  .OF,  CIJY  DB .  MAUPASSANT 


^A(h^re  tbfi  enemy,  w^s  barricade,d  i  and,, ;  waving  his 
weapon,  labove  iiis  head,  rqared^at  the  top  >'0f  hiS; 
lungs:  "Long  live  the  Flepublic!  Death  to  traitors!"' 
Then  he  fell  back  i  where  his  officers,  were.  The 
butcher,  the;  baker,  afid  the  apothecary,  .feeling  a  little 
uncertain,  put  up  their  .shutters  ajidi  closed;,, their, 
Sfhopso    The  grocery  alone. iremained:  open* .    .i,.t-;'ir\' 

yiiiyleanwhUe  \the"  men  ofiith©.  pvilitianwere  arriving, 
little,  by;  littk,,  variously  clothed,  but,  all 'Wearing,  caps,; 
the;  cap/ constituting!  the  whole Mtmifomii of  the  icarps. 
They  were  armed  with  their  old,  rusty  guns<  guns 
that!  had  huragincn  ichiulney-piecesi  in  kitchens  for 
thirty  years,  and  ii<i>oked-' quite  like  a  'detachment; ofi 
country  soldiers.  ,'    >;  !  ini  ;.i 

■  ;  When  there!!  wereM;  about  "thirty  around  him,  the 
Commander,  explainedi  in-  a.tfew  words,  the  state;  of 
affairs.  Then,,  turning,  toward  his  major,  he  saidli 
"Now,  we.  must!  act.^'jij!     i    i      '  ■  !> 

While  the  inhabitants  collected,  talked  over  and 
discussed  ^he  :mUtter,;!the  idoictojt •  !qui^:;kly  formed'; his., 
plan  of. campaign;   ..  :,;      i-i;  .:     mi 

•.i:i'.t:Liduteoiant  Pic^rd,  you-  liidvanoe  to  the  Windows 
of'ithe;  raayur's'.hQUse  and  order  ,M..  d6  Varnetot  i  to 
turn  over  the  townhall  to  m.e,  ;:in  the  name  of  the 
Republic. ''!r    ri.r.    :-rn!:)i'h;i!nr  h')!\N;    ^ 

to  Bijitt'thei^lieutenant  was  a  .masterrraason  and  re* 
fused,'       .'  ,;'.    )     !.!  j^niiloi   tjfll  .^.-^Huod  "liadj 

'jdr'SYoUiiare^  a  ^  scamp;  yo.u>  tare.  \  1. Tiding  :.to,;make,  a 
tiarget'of  itiSe!  .  Those.  felJOwsiin  there  are  gOod,shotsii 
you.  k^OtWi that,';  No,  ,l],^aak$.!.,!;E?ieGmteiiyour.c(i>'Enmish 
sions  yourself!"  '/>ni:!',     -..ilj  ,,,i    ^iiiihi-!  1,^;  r  ,;,. 

'  oThef.  Commander  turnedi  reds!  'Mbordi^riyau.to.  go 
i%ithdiiDame  of  discip-hne;!'  said.ihe.'ib    .'ilLbnu    arij    oi 


U>      AN  AFFAIR   OF  STATE  25 

yni**il:am  not  spoiling  my  features  without   knowing 
whyv''  the' lieutenant  returnedJ         .  ujn-i.iii- 

fi-ivjMai  ;Of  influence^  inia  group  neai''' by,  were  heard 
laughing.  One  of -them  called  out:  "■You  are  right/ 
Pfcard)  it  is  not  the  proper  time."  The  doctor,  ^uhder 
his-  breath,  muttered:  '  "Cowards^!;!'  ,  And, ;. placing 
his  sword  and  his  revolver 'in  the  hitndsOf'a  soldier,: 
he  advanced  with  measured:  step,  his  eye  fixed  on 
the  windows,  as  if  he  expected  to;  see'  a^gun  or  a 
cannon  pointed  at  him'.  :^'Mi!o-,j  !!h,i;-;Ji!->!  I  'mIT 
^.O'When  he  was  within  a  1  few  Steps  of  the  building 
the  doors  at  the  two  extremities,  affording  an  en- 
trahce^  tditwo  s'chools,  opened, 'land'  a  flood  of  little 
<treaturesi  iboyson  one  si'd!e, '^irlson  thfe  other,' poured 
out  anid' began  playing  in  the',  open  space,;  chattering 
around  tile  ^doctor  like  a  floc!k>  of' ■  birds.  ;■  Hescarxiely 
knew  what  to  make,  of  It.  "l  !:  .  ,-!,';,  -i^:,,,  .!.i 
Ji  As  soon  as  the  hst  \vere  outj  the  doO^rs -closed. 
The  greater  part  of  the  little  monkeys  flrlally  scattered] 
and  then  the  Commander  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  i 

"Monsieur  de  Varnetot?"  A  window  in' the  first 
stony  bperred  and-M.de  Varnetot  a  pip  eared:  [/.a  -'jH 
'.i'iThe  Commander  began:;  "  Monsieurj  you' are  aware 
Of  the.  great  events  which  have  changed  the' system 
of  Governnient. '  The  party  you  represent  no  longer 
exists.  The  side  I'  represent .  noW  comes  into  power.' 
Under  these  sxid,  but  decisive' circumstances,  i  icomd 
to  demand  you,  in  liie  name  of  the  Republic,  to  put 
rrt  en y.  hand -the;  authority  vested  ;in  you  by  th^d  out- 
going' paweriflii:J»L    i:    tiv>i\     rjvi.';l     ';'.  ;  ' 

M.de^Vdrnetot  replied:  ^^' Doctor  Massarel,  1  am 
mayor  of  Gunneville,  so  placed  by  the  proper  author- 
ities) and  mayor  of  Canneville  1  shall  remain  until  the 


26  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

title  is  revoked  and  replaced  by  an  order  from  my 
superiors.  As  mayor,  I  am  at  home  in  the  mairie, 
and  there  I  shall  stay.  Furthermore,  just  try  to  put 
me  out."     And  he  closed  the  window. 

The  Commander  returned  to  his  troops.  But,  be- 
fore explaining  anything,  measuring  Lieutenant  Picard 
from  head  to  foot,  he  said: 

'"You  are  a  numskull,  you  are, — a  goose,  the 
disgrace  of  the  army.     I  shall  degrade  you." 

The  Lieutenant  replied:  "I'll  attend  to  that  my- 
self" And  he  went  over  to  a  group  of  muttering 
civilians. 

Then  the  doctor  hesitated.  What  should  he  do? 
Make  an  assault?  Would  his  men  obey  him?  And 
then,  was  he  surely  in  the  right?  An  idea  burst  upon 
him.  He  ran  to  the  telegraph  office,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  square,  and  hurriedly  sent  three  dispatches: 
"To  the  Members  of  the  Republican  Government,  at 
Paris";  "To  the  New  Republican  Prefect  of  the  Lower 
Seine,  at  Rouen";  "To  the  New  Republican  Sub-Pre- 
fect of  Dieppe." 

He  exposed  the  situation  fully;  told  of  the  danger 
run  by  the  commonwealth  from  remaining  in  the 
hands  of  the  monarchistic  mayor,  offered  his  devout 
services,  asked  for  orders  and  signed  his  name,  fol- 
lowing it  up  with  all  his  titles.  Then  he  returned  to 
his  army  corps  and,  drawing  ten  francs  out  of  his 
pocket,  said: 

"Now,  my  friends,  go  and  eat  and  drink  a  little 
something.  Only  leave  here  a  detachment  of  ten 
men,  so  that  no  one  leaves  the  mayor's  house." 

Ex-Lieutenant  Picard  chatting  with  the  watch- 
maker, overheard  this.     With    a   sneer  he   remarked: 


AN    AFFAIR   OF  STATE  27 

"Pardon  me,  but  if  they  go  out,  there  will  be  an 
opportunity  for  you  to  go  in.  Otherwise,  I  can't  see 
how  you  are  to  get  in  there!" 

The  doctor  made  no  reply,  but  went  away  to 
luncheon.  In  the  afternoon,  he  disposed  of  offices  all 
about  town,  having  the  air  of  knowing  of  an  impend- 
ing surprise.  Many  times  he  passed  before  the  doors 
of  the  mairie  and  of  the  church,  without  noticing 
anything  suspicious;  one  could  have  believed  the  two 
buildings  empty. 

The  butcher,  the  baker,  and  the  apothecary  re- 
opened their  shops,  and  stood  gossiping  on  the  steps. 
If  the  Emperor  had  been  taken  prisoner,  there  must 
be  a  traitor  somewhere.  They  did  not  feel  sure  of 
the  revenue  of  a  new  Republic. 

Night  came  on.  Toward  nine  o'clock,  the  doctor 
returned  quietly  and  alone  to  the  mayor's  residence, 
persuaded  that  his  adversary  had  retired.  And,  as  he 
was  trying  to  force  an  entrance  with  a  few  blows  of 
a  pickaxe,  the  loud  voice  of  a  guard  demanded  sud- 
denly: "Who  goes  there.?"  Monsieur  Massarel  beat 
a  retreat  at  the  top  of  his  speed. 

Another  day  dawned  without  any  change  in  the 
situation.  The  militia  in  anus  occupied  the  square. 
The  inhabitants  stood  around  awaiting  the  solution. 
People  from  neighboring  villages  came  to  look  on. 
Finally,  the  doctor,  realizing  that  his  reputation  was 
at  stake,  resolved  to  settle  the  thing  in  one  way  or 
another.  He  had  just  decided  that  it  must  be  some- 
thing energetic,  when  the  door  of  the  telegraph  office 
opened  and  the  little  servant  of  the  directress  ap- 
peared, holding  in  her  hand  two  papers. 

She  went   directly    to    the    Commander    and    gave 


38  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

him  one  of  the  dispatches;  then,  crossing'  thft'^uire, 
intimidated  by  so  many  eyes  fixed  upon'  he|-,  \^1th 
lowered  head  and  mincing  steps^  she*  rapped  gentlH? 
at  the  door  of  the  barricaded  house,  afe'"ff  ighbrant 
that  a  pat^t  of  the  army  Was  concealed  there^.'^^^''  ''"*^ 
r  !  The  do6r  opened  shghtly; '  the  hahd'  5f'  ^ -m'an 
received  the  message,  and  the  girl  returned','  blushing 
and  ready  to  weep,  from  being-  stared  at.     >'    ^ '•    ' 

The  doctor'  demanded,  with  stirring  A^oivtS:^'' "'A 
little  silence,  if  you  please."  And,  after  the  pic^^iilade 
became  qiiiet,  he  continued  pibudly:. ''^'^I'^f'"''    "^'1 ' 

"Here  is  a  communication  which 'I  have'  received 
from  the  Government.'"  'And  raising  the  dispatch,  he 
read:  •  /iv/oMto^    tutiKif  j,    xi- 

"Old    mayor    deposed.     Advise   us.  of  what   is   most  . necessary. 

Instructions  later.  "         '"  '         '        '^"•''^     '*^i<''' 

"For  the  Sub-Pfefect, '/ttiinp    h<-.rt  {Mf-n 

He  had  triumphed.  His  heart  Was  ^beating  with 
joy.  His  hand  trembled,  when  Picard,  'his "  old  ■  siub- 
alterh,'  cried  out  to  him  from  a  neighb^niig  g!^(9Up: 
"That's  all  right;  but  if  the  others  in  'there  Wofl't' go 
'Oiiit,i  your  paper  h.nsn't  a  leg  to  sta'nd' 'drt.'"'- The 
doctor  grew  a  little  pale.  If  they  would  not  go'  6ut 
-^  in  fact,  he  must  go  ahead  now.  It  Wa's  hot  ohly 
his  right,  but  his  duty.  And  h^  looked'  knxlotisfy 
at  the  house  of  the  mayoralty,  hopihg' that 'he  might 
see  the  door*  opeiii  and  his  adversary'  show  Mrnself. 
-But  the  door-rerrtained  closed.  What'-Was4o  be  d'one  ? 
The  crowd  was  increasing,  surrounding'  th'e  militii. 
-Some  laughed.  '"'    i>n.'.    bon ">.:|o 

One  thought,;  especially,  tortured  the!'4(bcfor.'  Tf  "'he 
should  mak6  an  assault,  he  must  march' 'at -the   head 


■m>  ;AN  :^FfAIR;i  Of,:  STATE    ^^ow  29 

of  Hsipenp.  and  as,  with  him.  dead,  all  contest  would, 
cepse,,  it  would  be  at  him^  and  at  him  a|one.,that. 
Mwjide.j  V;irrfcetat:  aod,-. the:, three!  guards  would-  aira.j 
And  their  aim  wa3  good,  very  good!  ;  Picard  hadr^T* 
minded. hini;  of; IhatM  jii  r    !,ij;niiii     f.ijninli"     :.' 

But  an   idea   shone   in   upon   him,  and  turning  tp 
Rommel,'  h0  saidt     ?  Go,  quickly,  and  ask  the  apoth- 
ecaryjtjQ  send  me  a.papkin  and  a  pole-,"      r         ..:•   ■i: 
The  ! -Lieutenant    hurried    off.     The    doctor    was ; 
going  to  make  a.  political  banner,  a  white  one,  that 
would  pe-rhapsiiejoi.ee  ,the  iheartof  thajtiold  kgitiipist,( 
the  mayors V-    loj     Miii  '  ,    JiiMVif'iljni    -li-ull    Jii    jni.; 

:  uPommel  !returned  with  the  required  linen  and  a 
broom;  handle.  With. some  pieces  of  string,  they  im-, 
pnovised'.a  , standard,  which  Massare]  seized  in  both 
hands.  Again,  he  advanced  toward  thei ;  house  of 
mayoralty,  bearing  the  standard  before  hini.  When 
in  front  of  the  door,  he  called  out:  "  M.onsiejur,  de 
Varnetot!'' iivnj.-     ./.Mynnvn    ni;Mi     -xif    iido;-;    },ii/ 

snTiie.1  door  opened  sudd^Jnly,  and  M.  d^  .Varnetot 
and  the  three;;  guards  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
The  idoctor.  recoiled,  instinctively*  Then,  :he  saluted 
his  ■  enemy  i' courteously,  and  announced,  almost 
strangled  by  emotion:  "  1  have  come,  sir, ;  to  com- 
municate to  you  the  instructions  I, havei just  received." 
That  gentleman,  without  any  salutation  whatever^ 
replied;'  "i  am  .going  to  withdraw,  sir,  but  you  must 
utideratand.  that  it  is  not  because  of  fear,  on  in  obedi-i 
ence.  10 ;ani( odious  government  that  has  usurped  the 
power."  And,  biting  off  each  word,  he  declared:  "I 
do  not  wish;  to   have   the   appearance   Of  i^erving  the 

Republic  for  a,  single  day.     That  iS.^ll.V,  iiu  v/i.   ■! 

vt.  Massarel,  -  amazed>    made   no    reply;    and    M.   d© 


30  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT 

Varnetct,  lA^alking  off  at  a  rapid  pace,  disappeared 
around  the  corner,  followed  closely  by  his  escort. 
Then  the  doctor,  slightly  dismayed,  returned  to  the 
crowd.  When  he  was  near  enough  to  be  heard,  he 
cried:  "Hurrah!  Hurrah!  The  Republic  triumphs  all 
along  the  line! " 

But  no  emotion  was  manifested.  The  doctor  tried 
again.  "Tiie  people  are  free!  You  are  free  and  in- 
dependent!    Do  you  understand?     Be  proud  of  it!" 

The  hstless  villagers  looked  at  him  with  eyes  un- 
lit by  glory.  In  his  turn,  he  looked  at  them,  indig- 
nant at  their  indifference,  seeking  for  som.e  word 
that  could  make  a  grand  impression,  electrify  this 
placid  country  and  make  good  his  mission.  The  in- 
spiration came,  and  turning  to  Pommel,  he  said: 
"Lieutenant,  go  and  get  the  bust  of  the  ex-Emperor, 
which  is ,  in  the  Council  Hall,  and  bring  it  to  me 
with  a  chair." 

And  soon  the  man  reappears,  carrying  on  his 
right  shoulder,  Napoleon  111.  in  plaster,  and  holding 
in  his  left  hand  a  straw-bottomed  chair. 

Massarel  met  him,  took  the  chair,  placed  it  on  the 
ground,  put  the  white  image  upon  it,  fell  back  a  few 
steps  and  called  out,  in  sonorous  voice: 

"Tyrant!  Tyrant!  Here  do  you  fall!  Fall  in  the 
dust  and  in  the  mire.  An  expiring  country  groans 
under  your  feet.  Destiny  has  called  you  the  Avenger. 
Defeat  and  shame  cling  to  you.  You  fall  conquered, 
a  prisoner  to  the  Prussians,  and  upon  the  ruins  of 
the  crumbling  Empire  the  young  and  radiant  Repub- 
lic arises,  picking  up  your  broken  sword." 

He  awaited  applause.  But  there  was  no  voice,  no 
sound.    The  bewildered  peasants  remained  silent.    And 


AN    AFFAIR    OF    STATE  ^I 

the  bust,  with  its  pointed  mustaches  extending 
beycnd  the  cheeks  on  each  side,  the  bust,  so  motion- 
less and  well  groomed  as  to  be  tit  for  a  hairdresser's 
sign,  seemed  to  be  looking  at  M.  Massarel  with  a 
plaster  smile,  a  smile  ineffaceable  and  mocking. 

They  remained  thus  face  to  face,  Napoleon  on  the 
chair,  the  doctor  in  front  of  him  about  three  steps 
away.  Suddenly  the  Commander  grew  angry.  What 
was  to  be  done  .^  What  was  there  that  would  move 
this  people,  and  bring  about  a  definite  victory  in 
opinion?  His  hand  happened  to  rest  on  his  hip  and 
to  come  in  contact  there  with  the  butt  end  of 
his  revolver,  under  his  red  sash.  No  inspiration,  no 
further  word  would  come.  But  he  drew  his  pistol, 
advanced  two  steps,  and,  taking  aim,  fired  at  the 
late  monarch.  The  ball  entered  the  forehead,  leaving 
a  little,  black  hole,  like  a  spot,  nothing  more.  There 
was  no  effect.  Then  he  fired  a  second  shot,  which 
made  a  second  hole,  then,  a  third;  and  then,  without 
stopping,  he  emptied  his  revolver.  The  brow  of 
Napoleon  disappeared  in  white  powder,  but  the  eyes, 
the  nose,  and  the  fine  points  of  the  mustaches 
remained  intact.  Then,  exasperated,  the  doctor  over- 
turned the  chair  with  a  blow  of  his  fist  and,  resting 
a  foot  on  the  remainder  of  the  bust  in  a  position  of 
triumph,  he  shouted:     "So  let  all  tyrants  perish!" 

Still  no  enthusiasm  was  manifest,  and  as  the 
spectators  seemed  to  be  in  a  kind  of  stupor  from 
astonishment,  the  Commander  called  to  the  militia- 
men: "You  may  now  go  to  your  homes."  And  he 
went  toward  his  own  house  with  great  strides,  as  if 
he  were  pursued. 

His  maid,  when  he  appeared,  told   him  that  some 


^  WORKS:  OF  GUY  Dl  MAUPASSANT 

patiants' ;had'ibeen  waiting  in  his  office  for  '  thrfed 
hours.  He  hastened  in.  There  were  th'e' tw6' varicbsfe^ 
vein  patients,  who  had  returned  at  dayb'rfeakV'ebstf^ 
nate^hut  patient.       '    ;i;    :;:ii-i'">t    nn    r,i    l>-^rin'>/    jiyji;: 

The  old  man  ImniMhtely'^e^m  hh  ■■'^i(plM'Ai\6ki 
'-This  began  by  ^  'feeling  like,  aifits  mnni%'  oj^ -and 
down  the  legs."'-:    "■'.■d    !-i   uwr'i    ni   -i.^t-.c;)    '...ff  ,ii>.a3 

-aob  orf   ftf    ■     ■ 


;!-         ':  (it 


orii    tr.    '.    ■  -'a-ifv.    ov/r    h'>-)n(;vb{> 

xjnjvi,  ^'  ;       (I      ji  i'tufsofn    ThJ 

.(  ,(i  •  ifod  ^-jiArl  /<lt»iS   >. 

■  ,,  ;  ■             .  •,:,!'!        .!  .•  iTI'^    or?    /f.W 

JlJOrIi                                                       '  ■  '          ''^    hfif*")^,   ;;    '•vi''(>fT! 

■  r.t.jtrn     ^rf    ,:yniqqnt;; 

•i>M...(      ).:i:     ')rlJ     hfu;     .o^.oa     ^rft 
,   :i;)i-t.!:7'>    r!o??r     .«-)i;>rii  b')n(s;nt-0i 
-         !  '^     :'i;rh  :^rff  h^nntt 
■ '  i:       ■  ■  ■ '     'jri  t    ito     to,-^] 

■  )!j,'!i;i(i(i;rx  )    .f>df   .tnoffiH/inot-x 

t   .-.-     "Mil   YKffi  i)'^'.''''     :  n.:)m 

.      ■'.''/'^    /'.iff    f^, •■:'"»*    )n-i\itr 

:    1}  rniii  ,b9ifi3qq>;      '  .mrti  iiH 


THE     ARTIST 


ah!  Monsieur,"  the  old  mountebank 
said  to  me;  "it  is  a  matter  of  ex- 
ercise and  habit,  that  is  all!  Of 
course,  one  requires  to  be  a  little 
gifted  that  way  and  not  to  be  butter- 
fingered,  but  what  is  chiefly  necessary 
is  patience  and  daily  practice  for  long, 
long  years." 
His  modesty  surprised  me  all  the  more, 
jL  K  because  of  all  performers  who  are  gener- 
v\-^— *»  ally  infatuated  with  their  own  skill,  he  was 
the  most  wonderfully  clever  one  I  had  met. 
Certainly  I  had  frequently  seen  him,  for  every- 
body had  seen  him  in  some  circus  or  other,  or 
even  in  traveling  shows,  performing  the  trick  that 
consists  of  putting  a  man  or  woman  with  extended 
arms  against  a  wooden  target,  and  in  throwing 
knives  between  their  fmgers  and  round  their  heads, 
from  a  distance.  There  is  nothing  very  extraordi- 
nary in  it,  after  all,  when  one  knows  ihe  tricks 
of  the  trade,  and  that  the  knives  are  not  the  least 
sharp,  and  stick  into  the  wood  at  some  distance  from 
Maup.  1—3  (33) 


3^  THE   ARTIST 

the  flesh.  !t  is  the  rapidity  of  the  throws,  the 
gutter  of  the  blades,  and  the  curve  which  the  handles 
make  toward  their  living  object,  which  give  an  air  of 
danger  to  an  exhibition  that  has  become  common- 
place, and  only  requires  very  middling  skill. 

But  here  there  was  no  trick  and  no  deception,  and 
no  dust  thrown  into  the  eyes.  It  was  done  in  good 
earnest  and  in  all  sincerity.  The  knives  were  as 
sharp  as  razors,  and  the  old  mountebank  planted 
them  close  to  the  flesh,  exactly  in  the  angle  between 
the  fingers.  He  surrounded  the  head  with  a  perfect 
halo  of  knives,  and  the  neck  with  a  collar  from  which 
nobody  could  have  extricated  himself  without  cutting 
his  carotid  artery,  while,  to  increase  the  difficulty,  the 
eld  fellow  went  through  the  performance  without 
seeing,  his  whole  face  being  covered  with  a  close 
mask  of  thick  oilcloth. 

Naturally,  like  other  great  artists,  he  was  not  un- 
derstood by  the  crowd,  who  confounded  him  with 
vulgar  tricksters,  and  his  mask  only  appeared  to  them 
a  trick  the  more,  and  a  very  common  trick  into  the 
bargain. 

"Me  must  Ijiink  us  very  stupid," they  said.  "How 
could  he  possibly  aim  without  having  his  eyes  open.?" 

And  they  thought  there  must  be  imperceptible 
holes  in  the  oilcloth,  a  sort  of  latticework  concealed 
in  the  material.  Il  was  useless  for  him  to  allow  the 
public  to  examine  the  mask  for  themselves  before  the 
exhibition  began.  It  was  all  very  well  that  they 
could  not  discover  any  trick,  but  they  v/ere  only  all 
the  more  convinced  that  they  were  being  tricked. 
Did  not  the  people  know  that  they  ought  to  be 
tricked? 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  35 

I  had  recognized  a  great  artist  in  the  old  mounte- 
bank, and  I  was  quite  sure  that  he  was  altogether 
incapable  of  any  trickery.  1  told  him  so,  while 
expressing  my  admiration  to  hini;  and  he  had  been 
touched  by  my  open  admiration  and  above  ail  by  the 
justice  I  had  done  him.  Thus  we  became  good  friends, 
and  he  explained  to  me,  very  modestly,  the  real  trick 
which  the  crowd  do  not  understand,  the  eternal  trick 
contained  in  these  simple  words:  "To  be  gifted  by 
nature  and  to  practice  every  day  for  long,  long  years." 

He  had  been  especially  struck  by  the  certainty 
which  I  expressed  that  any  trickery  must  become 
impossible  to  him.  "Yes,"  he  said  to  me;  "quite 
impossible!  Impossible  to  a  degree  which  you  can- 
not imagine.  If  I  were  to  tell  you!  But  where  would 
be  the  use.^" 

His  face  clouded  over,  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears.  I  did  not  venture  to  force  myself  into  his 
confidence.  My  looks,  however,  were  not  so  discreet 
as  my  silence,  and  begged  him  to  speak;  so  he 
responded  to  their  mute  appeal. 

"After  all,"  he  said:  "why  should  I  not  tell  you 
about  it?  You  will  understand  me."  And  he  added, 
wilh  a  look  of  sudden  ferocity:  "She  understood  it, 
at  any  rate! " 

"Who?"  1  asked. 

"My  strumpet  of  a  wife,"  he  replied.  "Ah!  Mon- 
sieur, what  an  abominable  creature  she  was  —  if  you 
only  knew!  Yes,  she  understood  it  too  well,  too 
well,  and  that  is  why  1  hate  her  so;  even  more  on 
that  account,  than  for  having  deceived  me.  For  that 
is  a  natural  fault,  is  it  not,  and  may  be  pardoned? 
But  the  other  thing  was  a  crime,  a  horrible  crime." 


36  THE  ARTIST 

The  woman,  who  stood  against  the  wooden  target 
every  night  with  her  arms  stretched  out  and  her 
finger  extended,  and  whom  the  old  mountebank 
fitted  with  gloves  and  with  a  halo  formed  of  his 
knives,  which  were  as  sharp  as  razors  and  which  he 
planted  close  to  her,  was  his  wife.  She  might  hav^. 
been  a  woman  of  forty,  and  must  have  been  fairly 
pretty,  but  with  a  perverse  prettiness;  she  had  an 
impudent  mouth,  a  mouth  that  was  at  the  same  time 
sensual  and  bad,  with  the  lower  lip  too  thick  for  the 
thin,  dry  upper  lip.. 

I  had  several  times  noticed  that  every  time  he 
planted  a  knife  in  the  board,  she  uttered  a  laugh,  so 
low  as  scarcely  to  be  heard,  but  which  was  very 
significant  when  one  heard  it,  for  it  was  a  hard  and 
very  mocking  laugh.  1  had  always  attributed  that 
sort  of  reply  to  an  artitlce  which  the  occasion 
required.  It  was  intended,  1  thought,  to  accentuate 
the  danger  she  incurred  and  the  contempt  that  she 
felt  for  it,  thanks  to  the  sureness  of  the  thrower's 
hands,  and  so  1  was  very  much  surprised  when  the 
mountebank  said  to  me: 

".Have  you  observed  her  laugh,  1  say?  Her  evil 
laugh  which  makes  fun  of  me,  and  her  cowardly 
laugh  which  defies  me  ?  Yes,  cowardly,  because  she 
knows  that  nothing  can  happen  to  her,  nothing,  in 
spite  of  all  she  deserves,  in  spite  of  all  that  I  ought 
to  do  to  her,  in  spite  of  all  that  1  wafit  to  do  to 
her." 

"What  do  you  want  to  do?" 

"Confound  it!  Cannot  you  guess?  I  want  to  kill 
her." 

"To  kill  her,  because  she  has — " 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  57 

''  Because  she  has  deceived  me?  No,  no,  not  that, 
I  tell  you  again.  I  have  forgiven  her  for  that  a  long 
time  ago,  and  I  am  too  much  accustomed  to  it  I  But 
the  worst  of  it  is  that  the  first  time  I  forgave  her, 
when  I  told  her  that  all  the  same  1  might  some  day 
have  my  revenge  by  cutting  her  throat,  if  1  chose, 
without  seeming  to  do  it  on  purpose,  as  if  it  were 
an  accident,  mere  awkwardness  — " 

"Oh!     So  you  said  that  to  her?" 

"Of  course  I  did.  and  1  meant  it.  I  thought  T 
might  be  able  to  do  it,  for  you  see  1  had  the  perfect 
right  to  do  so.  It  was  so  simple,  so  easy,  so  tempt- 
ing! Just  think!  A  mistake  of  less  than  half  an  inch, 
and  her  skin  would  be  cut  at  the  neck  where  the 
jugular  vein  is,  and  the  jugular  would  be  severed. 
My  knives  cut  very  well!  And  when  once  the  jugu- 
lar is  cut  —  good-bye.  The  blood  would  spurt  out, 
and  one,  two,  three  red  jets,  and  all  would  be  over; 
she  would  be  dead,  and  I  should  have  had  my  re- 
venge! " 

"That  is  true,  certainly,  horribly  true!" 

"And  without  any  risk  to  m.e,  eh?  An  accident, 
that  is  all;  bad  luck,  one  of  those  mistakes  which 
happen  every  day  in  our  business.  What  could  they 
accuse  me  of?  Whoever  would  think  of  accusing 
me,  even  ?  Homicide  through  imprudence,  that  would 
be  all!  They  would  even  pity  me,  rather  than  accuse 
me.  'My  wife!  My  poor  wife!'  I  should  say,  sob- 
bing. 'My  wife,  who  is  so  necessary  to  me,  who  is 
half  the  breadwinner,  who  takes  part  in  my  per- 
formance!' You  must  acknowledge  that  1  should  be 
pitied!" 

"Certainly;  there  is  not  the  least  doubt  about  that." 


38 


THE   ARTIST 


"And  you  must  allow  that  such  a  revenge  would 
be  a  veiT  nice  revenge,  the  best  possible  revenge 
which  1  could  have  with  assured  impunity." 

"Evidently  that  is  so." 

"Very  well!  But  when  1  told  her  so,  as  I  have 
told  you,  and  more  forcibly  still;  threatening  her,  as  1 
was  mad  with  rage  and  ready  to  do  the  deed  that 
I  had  dreamed  of  on  the  spot,  what  do  you  think 
she  said.^" 

"That  you  were  a  good  fellov/,  and  would  cer- 
tainly not  have  the  atrocious  courage  to  — " 

"Tut!  tut!  tut!  1  am  not  such  a  good  fellow  as 
you  think.  I  am  not  frightened  of  blood,  and  that  I 
have  proved  already,  though  it  would  be  useless  to 
tell  you  how  and  where.  But  I  had  no  necessity  to 
prove  it  to  her,  for  she  knows  that  I  am  capable  of  a 
good  many  things;  even  of  crime;  especially  of  one 
crime." 

"And  she  was  not  frightened?" 

"No.  She  merely  replied  that  I  could  not  do 
what  I  said;  you  understand.  That  I  could  not 
do  it!" 

"Why  not?" 

"Ah!  Monsieur,  so  you  do  not  understand?  Why 
do  you  not?  Have  I  not  explained  to  you  by  what 
constant,  long,  daily  practice  I  have  learned  to  plant 
my  knives  without  seeing  what  I  am  doing?" 

"Yes,  well,  what  then?" 

"Well!  Cannot  you  understand  what  she  has  un- 
derstood with  such  terrible  results,  that  now  my 
hand  would  no  longer  obey  me  if  I  wished  to  make 
a  mistake  as  1  threw?" 

"Is  it  possible?" 


WORKS   OF  GUV    DE    MAUPASSANT 


39 


"Nothing  is  truer,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  For  I  really 
have  wished  to  have  the  revenge  which  I  have 
dreamed  of,  and  which  I  thought  so  easy.  Exasper- 
ated by  that  bad  wuman's  insolence  and  confidence 
in  her  own  safety,  I  have  several  times  made  up  my 
mind  to  kill  her,  and  have  exerted  all  my  energy  and 
all  my  skill  to  make  my  knives  fly  aside  when  1 
threw  them  to  make  a  border  round  her  neck.  1 
have  tried  with  all  my  might  to  make  them  deviate 
half  an  inch,  just  enough  to  cut  her  throat.  I  wanted 
to,  and  I  have  never  succeeded,  never.  And  always 
the  slut's  horrible  laugh  makes  fun  of  me,  always, 
always." 

And  with  a  deluge  of  tears,  with  something  like  a 
roar  of  unsatiated  and  muzzled  rage,  he  ground  his 
teeth  as  he  wound  up:  "She  knows  me,  the  jade; 
she  is  in  the  secret  of  my  work,  of  my  patience,  of 
my  trick,  routine,  whatever  you  may  cnll  it!  She 
lives  in  my  innermost  being,  and  sees  into  it  more 
closely  than  you  do,  or  than  I  do  myself.  She 
knows  what  a  faultless  machine  I  have  become,  the 
machine  of  which  she  makes  fun,  the  machine  which 
is  too  well  wound  up,  the  machine  which  cannot  get 
out  of  order  —  and  she  knows  that  I  cannot  make  a 
mistake." 


THE    HORLA 


M 


V& 


AT  8.     What    a   lovely  day !    I 
have  spent  all  the  morning  lying 
on  the  grass  in  front  of  my  house, 
under  the  enormous  plantain  tree 
which  covers   and  shades  and  shel- 
ters   the    whole   of   it.      I    like    this 
part    of   the    country;    1    am  fond    ot 
_-^     hving  here  because  1  am  attached  to  it 
~^^^ '    by  deep  roots,  the   profound  and  delicate 
roots  which   attach    a  man  to  the   soil   on 
fr  /i)~-s'    which  his  ancestors  were  born  and  died,  to 
their  traditions,  their   usages,  theif   food,    the 
local  expressions,  the   peculiar  language  of  the 


peasants,  the  smell  of  the  soil,  the  hamlets,  and 
to  the  atmosphere  itself. 

I  love  the  house  in  which  I  grew  up.  From  my 
windows  1  can  see  the  Seine,  which  flows  by  the  side 
of  my  garden,  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  almost 
through  my  grounds,  the  great  and  wide  Seine,  which 
goes  to  Rouen  and  Havre,  and  which  is  covered  with 
boats  passing  to  and  fro. 

On  the  left,  down  yonder,  lies  Rouen,  populous 
Rouen    with    its    blue    roofs    massing   under    pointed-. 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  41 

Gotbic  towers.  Innumerable  are  they,  delicate  or 
broad,  dominated  by  the  spire  of  the  cathedral,  full  of 
bells  which  sound  through  the  blue  air  on  line  morn- 
ings, sending  their  sweet  and  distant  Iron  clang  to 
me,  their  metallic  sounds,  now  stronger  and  now 
weaker,  according  as  the  wind  is  strong  or  light. 

What  a  delicious  morning  It  was  I  About  eleven 
o'clock,  a  long  line  of  boats  drawn  by  a  steam-tug, 
as  big  a  lly,  and  which  scarcely  puffed  while  emitting 
its  thick  smoke,  passed  my  gate. 

After  two  English  schooners,  whose  red  flags 
fluttered  toward  the  sky,  there  came  a  magnificent 
Brazilian  three-master;  It  was  perfectly  white  and 
wonderfully  clean  and  shining.  I  sal^l^d  it,  1  hardly 
know  why,  except  that  the  sight  of  the  vessel  gave 
me  great  pleasure. 

May  12.  I  have  had  a  slight  feverish  attack  for 
the  last  few  days,  and  1  feel  ill,  or  rather  I  feel  low- 
spirited. 

Whence  come  those  mysterious  influences  which 
change  our  happiness  into  discouragement,  and  our 
self-confidence  into  diffidence  ?  One  might  almost 
say  that  the  air,  the  invisible  air,  is  full  of  unknow- 
able Forces,  whose  mysterious  presence  we  have  to 
endure.  I  wake  up  in  the  best  of  spirits,  with  an  in- 
clination to  sing  in  my  heart.  Why  ?  I  go  down  by 
the  side  of  the  water,  and  suddenly,  after  walking  a 
short  distance,  1  return  home  wretched,  as  if  some 
misfortune  were  awaiting  me  there.  Why?  Is  it  a 
cold  shiver  which,  passing  over  my  skin,  has  upset 
my  nerves  and  given  me  a  fit  of  low  spirits?  Is  it 
the  form  of  the  clouds,  or  the  tints  of  the  sky,  or  the 
colors  of  the  surrounding  objects  which  are  so  change- 


42  THE   HORLA 

able,  whicn  have  troubled  my  thoughts  as  they  passed 
before  my  eyes?  Who  can  tell?  Everything  that 
surrounds  us,  everything  that  we  see  without  looking 
at  it,  everything  that  we  touch  without  knowing  it, 
everything  that  we  handle  without  feeling  it,  every- 
thing that  we  meet  without  clearly  distinguishing  it, 
has  a  rapid,  surprising,  and  inexplicable  effect"  upon 
us  and  upon  our  organs,  and  through  thern  on  our 
ideas  and  on  our  being  itself. 

Mow  profound  that  mystery  of  the  Invisible  is! 
We  cannot  fathom  it  with  our  miserable  senses:  our 
eyes  are  unable  to  perceive  what  is  either  too  small 
or  too  great,  too  near  to  or  too  far  from  us;  we  can 
see  neither  the  inhabitants  of  a  star  nor  of  a  drop  of 
water;  our  ears  deceive  us,  for  they  transmit  to  us 
the  vibrations  of  the  air  in  sonorous  notes.  Our 
senses  are  fairies  who  work  the  miracle  of  changing 
that  movement  into  noise,  and  by  that  metamorphosis 
give  birth  to  music,  which  makes  the  mute  agitation 
of  natiire  a  harmony.  So  with  our  sense  of  smell, 
which  is  weaker  than  that  of  a  dog,  and  so  with  our 
sense  of  taste,  which  can  scarcely  distinguish  the  age 
of  a  wine! 

Oh!  U  we  only  had  other  organs  which  could 
work  other  miracles  in  our  favor,  what  a  number  of 
fresh  things  we  might  discover  around  us! 

May  1 6.  I  am  ill,  decidedly!  I  was  so  well  last 
month!  I  am  feverish,  horribly  feverish,  or  rather  I 
am  in  a  state  of  feverish  enervation,  which  makes  my 
mind  suffer  as  much  as  my  body.  I  have  without 
ceasing  the  horrible  sensation  of  some  danger  threat- 
ening me,  the  apprehension  of  some  coming  mis- 
fortune or  of  approaching  death,  a  presentiment  which 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


4^ 


is,  no  doubt,  an  attack  of  some  illness  still  unnamed, 
which  germinates  in  the  flesh  and  in  the  blood. 

Maj'  iS.  I  have  just  come  from  consulting  my 
medical  man,  for  I  can  no  longer  get  any  sleep. 
He  found  that  my  pulse  was  high,  my  eyes  dilated, 
my  nerves  highly  strung,  but  no  alarming  symptoms. 
I  must  have  a  course  of  shower  baths  and  of  bromide 
of  potassium. 

May  25.  No  change!  My  stale  is  really  very 
peculiar.  As  the  evening  comes  on,  an  incompre- 
hensible feeling  of  disquietude  seizes  me,  just  as  if 
night  concealed  some  terrible  menace  toward  me.  I 
dine  quickly,  and  then  try  to  read,  but  1  do  not  un- 
derstand the  words,  and  can  scarcely  distinguish  the 
letters.  Then  1  walk  up  and  down  my  drawing- 
room,  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  confused  and  irre- 
sistible fear,  a  fear  of  sleep  and  a  fear  of  my  bed. 

About  ten  o'clock  I  go  up  to  my  room.  As  soon 
as  I  have  entered  I  lock  and  bolt  the  door.  I  am 
frightened  —  of  what  ?  Up  till  the  present  time  I  have 
been  frightened  of  nothing.  1  open  my  cupboards, 
and  look  under  my  bed;  I'listcn  —  I  listen  —  to  what? 
How  strange  it  is  that  a  simple  feeling  of  discomfort. 
of  impeded  or  heightened  circulation,  perhaps  the 
irritation  of  a  nervous  center,  a  slight  congestion,  a 
small  disturbance  in  the  imperfect  and  delicate  func- 
tions of  our  living  machinery,  can  turn  the  most 
light-hearted  of  men  into  a  melancholy  one.  and  make 
a  coward  of  the  bravest?  Then.  1  go  tn  bed,  and  I 
wait  for  sleep  as  a  man  might  wait  for  tlic  execu- 
tioner. I  wait  for  its  coming  with  dread,  and  my 
heart  beats  and  my  legs  tremble,  while  my  whole 
body   shivers   beneath   the   warmth  of  the  bedclothes, 


44  THE  HORLA 

until  the  moment  when  I  suddenly  fall  asleep,  as  = 
man  throws  himself  into  a  pool  of  stagnant  water  in 
order  to  drown.  I  do  not  feel  this  perfidious  sleep 
coming  over  me  as  1  used  to,  but  a  sleep  which  is 
close  to  me  and  watching  me,  which  is  going  to 
seize  me  by  the  head,  to  close  my  eyes  and  annihi- 
late me. 

I  sleep  —  a  long  time  —  two  or  three  hours  per- 
haps—  then  a  dream  — no — ^a  nightmare  lays  hold  on 
me.  I  feel  that  1  am  in  bed  and  asleep  — I  feel  it  and 
I  know  it  —  and  I  feel  also  that  somebody  is  coming 
close  to  me,  is  looking  at  me,  touching  me,  is  get- 
ting on  to  my  bed,  is  kneeling  on  my  chest,  is  tak- 
ing my  neck  between  his  hands  and  squeezing  it  — 
squeezing  it  with  all  his  might  in  order  to  strangle 
me. 

I  struggle,  bound  by  that  terrible  powerlessness 
which  paralyzes  us  in  our  dreams;  I  try  to  cry  out  — 
but  I  cannot;  I  want  to  move  —  I  cannot;  I  try,  with 
the  most  violent  efforts  and  out  of  breath,  to  turn 
over  and  throw  off  this  being  which  is  crushing  and 
suffocating  me  —  1  cannot! 

^  And  then  suddenly  1  wake  up,  shaken  and  bathed 
in  perspiration;  I  light  a  candle  and  find  that  I  am 
alone,  and  after  that  crisis,  which  occurs  every  night, 
I  at  length  fall  asleep  and  slumber  tranquilly  till 
morning. 

June  2.  My  state  has  grown  worse.  What  is  the 
matter  with  me  ?  The  bromide  does  me  no  good, 
and  the  shower-baths  have  no  effect  whatever. 
Sometimes,  in  order  to  tire  myself  out,  though  I  am 
fatigued  enough  already,  I  go  for  a  walk  in  the  forest 
of  Roumare.     1  used  to  think   at  first  that  the  fresh 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  45 

light  and  soft  air,  impregnated  with  the  odor  of 
herbs  and  leaves,  would  instill  new  life  into  my  veins 
and  impart  fresh  energy  to  my  heart.  One  day  1 
turned  into  a  broad  ride  in  tiie  wood,  and  then  I 
diverged  toward  La  Bouille,  through  a  narrow  path, 
between  two  rows  of  exceedingly  tall  trees,  which 
placed  a  thick,  green,  almost  black  roof  between  the 
sky  and  me. 

A  sudden  shiver  ran  through  me,  not  a  cold 
shiver,  but  a  shiver  of  agony,  and  so  I  hastened  my 
steps,  uneasy  at  being  alone  in  the  wood,  frightened 
stupidly  and  without  reason,  at  the  profound  solitude. 
Suddenly  it  seemed  as  if  1  were  being  followed,  that 
somebody  was  walking  at  my  heels,  close,  quite  close 
to  me,  near  enough  to  touch  me. 

1  turned  round  sudde-^ly,  but  I  was  alone.  I  saw 
nothing  behind  me  except  the  straight,  broad  ride, 
empty  and  bordered  by  high  trees,  horribly  empty; 
on  the  other  side  also  It  extended  until  it  was  lost 
in  the  distance,  and  looked  just  the  same  —  terrible. 

1  closed  my  eyes.  Why?  And  then  I  began  to 
turn  round  on  one  heel  very  quickly,  just  like  a  top. 
I  nearly  fell  down,  and  opened  my  eyes;  the  trees 
were  dancing  round  me  and  the  earth  heaved;  I  was 
obliged  to  sit  down.  Then,  ah!  I  no  longer  remem- 
bered how  1  had  come!  What  a  strange  idea!  What 
a  strange,  strange  idea!  1  did  not  the  least  know. 
I  started  off  to  the  right,  and  got  back  into  the 
avenue  which  had  led  me  into  the  middle  of  the 
forest. 

June  ^.  I  have  had  a  terrible  night.  I  shall  go 
away  for  a  few  weeks,  for  no  doubt  a  journey  will 
^l  me  up  agam. 


46  THE  HORLA 

July  2.  I  have  come  back,  quite  cured,  and  have 
had  a  most  delightful  trip  into  the  bargain.  I  have 
been  to  Mont  Saint-iViichel,  which  I  had  not  seen  be- 
fore. 

What  a  sight,  when  one  arrives  as  I  did,  at 
Avranches  toward  the  end  of  the  day!  The  town 
stands  on  a  hill,  and  I  was  taken  into  the  public 
garden  at  the  extremity  of  the  town.  I  uttered  a  cry 
of  astonishment.  An  extraordinarily  large  bay  lay 
extended  before  me,  as  far  as  my  eyes  could  reach, 
between  two  hills  which  were  lost  to  sight  in  the 
mist;  and  in  the  middle  of  this  immense  yellow  bay, 
under  a  clear,  golden  sky,  a  peculiar  hill  rose  up, 
somber  and  pointed  in  the  midst  of  the  sand.  The 
sun  had  just  disappeared,  and  under  the  still  flaming 
sky  stood  out  the  outline  of  that  fantastic  rock, 
which  bears  on  its  summit  a  picturesque    monument. 

At  daybreak  I  went  to'  it.  The  tide  was  low,  as 
it  had  been  the  night  before,  and  1  saw  that  wonder- 
ful abbey  rise  up  before  me  as  I  approached  it. 
After  several  hours'  walking,  I  reached  the  enormous 
mass  of  rock  which  supports  the  little  town,  domi- 
nated by  the  great  church.  Having  climbed  the  steep 
and  narrow  street,  1  entered  the  most  wonderful 
Gothic  building  that  has  ever  been  erected  to  God  on 
earth,  large  as  a  town,  and  full  of  low  rooms  which 
seem  buried  beneath  vaulted  roofs,  and  of  lofty  gal- 
leries supported  by  delicate  columns. 

I  entered  this  gigantic  granite  jewel,  which  is  as 
light  in  its  effect  as  a  bit  of  lace  and  is  covered  with 
towers,  with  slender  belfries  to  which  spiral  staircases 
ascend.  The  flying  buttresses  raise  strange  heads  that 
bristle  with  chimeras,  with  devils,  with  fantastic  ani- 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  47 

mals,  with  monstrous  flowers,  are  joined  together  by 
finely  carved  arches,  to  the  blue  sky  by  day,  and  to 
the  black  sky  by  night. 

When  I  had  reached  the  summit,  I  said  to  the 
monk  who  accompanied  me:  "Father,  how  happy 
you  must  be  here!"  And  he  repHed:  "it  is  very 
windy,  Monsieur";  and  so  we  began  to  talk  while 
watching  the  rising  tide,  which  ran  over  the  sand 
and  covered  it  with  a  steel  cuirass. 

And  then  the  monk  told  me  stories,  all  the  old 
stories  belonging  to  the  place  —  legends,  nothing  but 
legends. 

One  of  them  struck  me  forcibly.  The  country 
people,  those  belonging  to  the  Mornet,  declare  that  at 
night  one  can  hear  talking  going  on  in  the  sand,  and 
also  that  two  goats  bleat,  one  with  a  strong,  the  other 
with  a  weak  voice.  Incredulous  people  declare  that 
it  is  nothing  but  the  screaming  of  the  sea  birds, 
which  occasionally  resembles  blcatings.  and  occasion- 
ally human  lamentations;  but  belated  fishermen  swear 
that  they  have  met  an  old  shepherd,  whose  cloak- 
covered  head  they  can  never  see,  wandering  on  the 
sand,  between  two  tides,  round  the  little  town 
placed  so  far  out  of  the  world.  They  declare  he  is 
guiding  and  walking  before  a  he-goat  with  a  man's 
face  and  a  she-goat  with  a  woman's  face,  both  with 
white  hair,  who  talk  incessantly,  quarreling  in  a 
strange  language,  and  then  suddenly  cease  talking  in 
order  to  bleat  with  all  liieir  might. 

"Do  you  believe  it?"  I  asked  the  monk.  "1 
scarcely  know,"  he  replied;  and  1  continued:  "If 
there  are  other  beings  besides  ourselves  on  this  earth, 
how  comes  it  that  we  have  not  known  it  for  so  long 


48  THE  HORLA     ' 

a  time,  or  v/hy  have  you  not  seen  them  ?    How  is  it 
that  I  have  not  seen  them  ? " 

He  replied:  "Do  we  see  the  hundred-thousandth 
part  of  what  exists?  Lool^  here;  there  is  the  wind, 
which  is  the  strongest  force  in  nature.  It  knocks 
down  men,  and  blows  down  buildings,  uproots  trees, 
raises  the  sea  into  mountains  of  water,  destroys  cliffs 
and  casts  great  ships  on  to  the  breakers;  it  kills,  it 
whistles,  it  sighs,  it  roars.  But  have  you  ever  seen 
it,  and  can  you  see  it  ?     Yet  it  exists  for  all  that." 

I  was  silent  before  this  simple  reasoning.  That 
man  was  a  philosopher,  or  perhaps  a  fool;  I  could 
not  say  which  exactly,  so  I  held  my  tongue.  What 
he  had  said  had  often  been  in  my  own  thoughts. 

July  ^.  I  have  slept  badly;  certainly  there  is  some 
feverish  influence  here,  for  my  coachman  is  suflFering 
in  the  same  way  as  I  am.  When  I  went  back  home 
yesterday,  I  noticed  his  singular  paleness,  and  I 
asked  him:    "What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Jean.^" 

"The  matter  is  that  I  never  get  any  rest,  and  my 
nights  devour  my  days.  Since  your  departure,  Mon- 
sieur, there  has  been  a  spell  over  me." 

However,  the  other  servants  are  all  well,  but  I  am 
very  frightened  of  having  another  attack,  myself. 

July  4.  1  am  decidedly  taken  again;  for  my  old 
nightmares  have  returned.  Last  night  I  felt  some- 
body leaning  on  me  who  was  sucking  my  life  from 
between  my  lips  with  his  mouth.  Yes,  he  was  suck- 
ing it  out  of  my  neck  like  a  leech  would  have  done. 
Then  he  got  up,  satiated,  and  I  woke  up,  so  beaten, 
crushed,  and  annihilated  that  I  could  not  move.  If 
this  continues  for  a  few  days,  I  shall  certainly  go 
away  again. 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  49 

July  5.  Have  I  lost  my  reason  ?  What  has  hap- 
pened? What  I  saw  last  night  is  so  strange  that 
my  head  wanders  when  I  think  of  it! 

As  I  do  now  every  evening,  I  had  locked  my  door; 
then,  being  thirsty,  I  drank  half  a  glass  of  water,  and 
I  accidentally  noticed  that  the  water-bottle  was  full 
up  to  the  cut-glass  stopper. 

Then  1  went  to  bed  and  fell  into  one  of  iny  terri- 
ble sleeps,  from  which  1  was  aroused  in  about  two 
hours  by  a  still  more  terrible  shock. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  sleeping  man  who  is  being 
murdered,  who  wakes  up  with  a  knife  in  his  chest, 
a  gurgling  in  his  throat,  is  covered  with  blood,  can 
no  longer  breathe,  is  going  to  die  and  does  not  un- 
derstand anything  at  all  about  it  —  there  you  have  it. 

Having  recovered  my  senses,  I  was  thirsty  again, 
so  I  lighted  a  candle  and  went  to  the  table  on  which 
my  water-bottle  was.  I  lifted  it  up  and  tilted  it  over 
my  glass,  but  nothing  came  out.  It  was  empty!  It 
was  completely  empty!  At  fust  I  could  not  under- 
stand it  at  all;  then  suddenly  I  was  seized  by  sach  a 
terrible  feeling  that  I  had  to  sit  down,  or  rather  fall 
into  a  chair!  Then  1  sprang  up  with  a  bound  to 
look  about  me;  then  1  sat  down  again,  overcome  by 
astonishment  and  fear,  in  front  of  the  transparent 
crystal  bottle!  1  looked  at  it  with  fixed  eyes,  trying 
to  solve  the  puzzle,  and  my  hands  trembled!  Some- 
body had  drunk  the  water,  but  who?  I?  1  without 
any  doubt.  It  could  surely  only  be  I  ?  In  that  case 
I  was  a  somnambulist  —  was  living,  without  knowing 
it,  that  double,  mysterious  life  which  makes  us  doubt 
whether  there  are  not  two  beings  in  us  —  whether  a 
strange,  unknowable,  and  invisible  being  does  not, 
Maup.  I — i 


50  THE    HORLA 

during  our  moments  of  mental  and  physical  torpor, 
animate  the  inert  body,  forcing  it  to  a  more  willing 
obedience  than  it  yields  to  ourselves. 

Oh!  Who  will  understand  my  horrible  agony P 
Who  will  understand  the  emotion  of  a  man  sound  in 
mind,  wide-awake,  full  of  sense,  who  looks  in  horror 
at  the  disappearance  of  a  little  water  while  he  was 
asleep,  through  the  glass  of  a  water-bottle!  And  I 
remained  sitting  until  it  w^as  daylight,  without  ven- 
turing to  go  to  bed  again. 

July  6.  I  am  going  mad.  Again  all  the  contents 
of  my  water-bottfe  have  been  drunk  during  the  night; 
or  rather  1  have  drunk  it! 

But  is  it  I  ?  Is  it  I }  Who  could  it  be .?  Who  ? 
Oh!  God!  Am  1  going  mad.?    Who  will  save  me? 

July  10.  I  have  just  been  through  some  surpris- 
ing ordeals.     Undoubtedly  I  must  be  mad!     And  yet! 

On  July  6,  before  going  to  bed,  I  put  some  wine, 
milk,  water,  bread,  and  strawberries  on  my  table. 
Somebody  drank  —  I  drank  —  all  the  water  and  a  lit- 
tle of  the  milk,  but  neither  the  wine,  nor  the  bread, 
nor  the  strawberries  were  touched. 

On  the  seventh  of  July  I  renewed  the  same  experi- 
ment, with  the  same  results,  and  on  July  8  I  left  out 
the  water  and  the  milk  and  nothing  was  touched. 

Lastly,  on  July  9  I  put  only  water  and  milk  on 
my  table,  taking  care  to  wrap  up  the  bottles  in  white 
muslin  and  to  tie  down  the  stoppers.  Then  I  rubbed 
my  lips,  mv  beard,  and  my  hands  with  pencil  lead, 
and  went  to  bed. 

Deep  slumber  seized  me,  soon  followed  by  a  ter- 
rible awakening.  1  had  not  moved,  and  my  sheets 
were  not  marked.     I  rushed  to  the  table.     The   mus- 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  5 1 

lin  round  the  bottles  remained  intact;  I  undid  the 
string,  trembling  with  fear.  All  the  water  had  been 
drunk,  and  so  had  the  milk!  Ah!  Great  God!  I  must 
start  for  Paris  immediately. 

July  12  Paris.  1  must  have  lost  my  head  during 
the  last  few  days!  I  must  be  the  plaything  of  my 
enervated  imagination,  unless  I  am  really  a  somnam- 
bulist, or  I  have  been  brought  under  the  power  of 
one  of  those  influences  —  hypnotic  suggestion,  for 
example  —  which  are  known  to  exist,  but  have  hith- 
erto been  inexplicable.  In  any  case,  my  mental  state 
bordered  on  madness,  and  twenty-four  hours  of  Paris 
sufficed  to  restore  me  to  my  equilibrium. 

Yesterday  after  doing  some  business  and  paying 
some  visits,  which  instilled  fresh  and  invigorating 
mental  air  into  me,  I  wound  up  my  evening  at  the 
Theatre  Fran^ais.  A  drama  by  Alexander  Dumas  the 
Younger  was  being  acted,  and  his  brilliant  and  pow- 
erful play  completed  my  cure.  Certainly  solitude  is 
dangerous  for  active  minds.  We  need  men  who  can 
think  and  can  talk,  around  us.  When  we  are  alone 
for  a  long  time,  we  people  s})ace  with  phantoms. 

I  returned  along  the  boulevards  to  my  hotel  in 
excellent  spirits.  Amid  the  jostling  of  the  crowd  I 
thought,  not  without  irony,  of  my  terrors  and  sur- 
mises of  the  previous  week,  because  I  believed,  yes, 
I  believed,  that  an  invisible  being  lived  beneath  my 
roof.  How  weak  our  mind  is;  how  quickly  it  is  ter- 
rified and  unbalanced  as  soon  as  we  are  confronted 
with  a  small,  incomprehensible  fact.  Instead  of  dis- 
missing the  problem  with:  "We  do  not  understand 
because  we  cannot  find  the  cause,"  we  immediately 
imagine  terrible  mysteries  and  supernatural  powers. 


52  THE  HORLA 

July  14.  Fete  of  the  Republic.  I  walked  through 
the  streets,  and  the  crackers  and  flags  amused  me 
like  a  child.  Still,  it  is  very  foolish  to  make  merry 
on  a  set  date,  by  Government  decree.  People  are 
like  a  flock  of  sheep,  now  steadily  patient,  now  in 
ferocious  revolt.  Say  to  it:  "Amuse  yourself,"  and 
it  amuses  itself.  Say  to  it:  "Go  and  fight  with 
your  neighbor,"  and  it  goes  and  figiits.  Say  to  if: 
"Vote  for  the  Emperor,"  and  it  votes  for  the  Enr- 
peror;  then  say  to  it:  "Vote  for  the  Republic,"  aid 
it  votes  for  the  Republic. 

Those  who  direct  it  are  stupid,  too;  but  instead  of 
obeying  men  they  obey  principles,  a  course  which 
can  only  be  foolish,  ineffective,  and  false,  for  the  very 
reason  that  principles  are  ideas  which  are  considered 
as  certain  and  unchangeable,  whereas  in  this  world 
one  is  certain  of  nothing,  since  light  is  an  illusion 
and  noise  is  deception. 

July  16.  1  saw  some  things  yesterday  that  troubleU 
me  very  much. 

I  was  dining  at  my  cousin's,  Madame  Sable,  whose 
husband  is  colonel  of  the  Seventy-sixth  Chasseurs  at 
Limoges.  There  were  two  young  women  there,  one 
of  whom  had  married  a  medical  man.  Dr.  Parent, 
who  devotes  himself  a  great  deal  to  nervous  diseases 
and  to  the  extraordinary  manifestations  which  just 
now  experiments  in  hypnotism  and  suggestion  are 
producing. 

He  related  to  us  at  some  length  the  enormous  re- 
sults obtained  by  English  scientists  and  the  doctors 
of  the  medical  school  at  Nancy,  and  the  facts  which 
he  adduced  appeared  to  me  so  strange,  that  I  de- 
clared that  I  was  altogether  incredulous. 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  53 

"We  are,"  he  declared,  "on  the  point  of  discov- 
ering one  of  the  most  important  secrets  of  nature,  I 
mean  to  say,  one  of  its  most  important  secrets  on 
this  earth,  for  assuredly  there  are  sonie  up  in  the 
stars,  yonder,  of  a  different  kind  of  importance.  Ever 
since  man  has  thought,  since  he  has  been  able  to  ex- 
press and  write  down  his  thoughts,  he  has  felt  him- 
self close  to  a  mystery  which  is  impenetrable  to  his 
coarse  and  imperfect  senses,  and  he  endeavors  to  sup- 
plement the  feeble  penetration  of  his  organs  by  the 
efforts  of  his  intellect.  As  long  as  that  intellect  re- 
mained in  its  elementary  stage,  this  intercourse  with 
invisible  spirits  assumed  forms  which  were  common- 
place though  terrifying.  Thence  sprang  the  popular 
belief  in  the  supernatural,  the  legends  of  wandering 
spirits,  of  fairies,  of  gnomes,  of  ghosts,  I  might  even 
say  the  conception  of  God,  for  our  ideas  of  the 
Workman-Creator,  from  whatever  religion  they  may 
have  come  down  to  us,  are  certainly  the  most  medi- 
ocre, the  stupidest,  and  the  most  unacceptable  inven- 
tions that  ever  sprang  from  the  frightened  brain  of 
any  human  creature.  Nothing  is  truer  than  what 
Voltaire  says:  'If  God  made  man  in  His  own  image, 
man  has  certainly  paid  Him  back  again.' 

"But  for  rather  more  than  a  century,  men  seem 
to  have  had  a  presentiment  of  something  new.  Mes- 
mer  and  some  others  have  put  us  on  an  unexpected 
track,  and  within  the  last  two  or  three  years  espec- 
ially, we  have  arrived  at  results  really  surprising." 

My  cousin,  who  is  also  very  incredulous,  smiled, 
and  Dr.  Parent  said  to  her:  "Would  you  like  me  to 
try  and  send  you  to  sleep,  Madame?" 

"  Yes,  certainly." 


54  IHE   HORLA 

She  sat  down  In  an  easy-chair,  and  he  began  to 
look  at  her  fixedly,  as  if  to  fascinate  her.  I  suddenly 
felt  myself  somewhat  discomposed;  my  heart  beat 
rapidly  and  1  had  a  choking  feeling  in  my  throat.  I 
saw  that  Madame  Sable's  eyes  were  growing  heavy, 
her  mouth  twitched,  and  her  bosom  heaved,  and  at 
the  end  of  ten  minutes  she  was  asleep. 

"Go  behind  her,"  the  doctor  said  to  me;  so  I 
took  a  seat  behind  her.  He  put  a  visiting-card  into 
her  hands,  and  said  to  her:  "This  is  a  looking-glass; 
what  do  you  see  in  it  ?  " 

She  replied:  "I  see  my  cousin." 

"What  is  he  doing?" 

"He  is  twisting  his  mustache." 

"And  now?" 

"He  is  taking  a  photograph  out  of  his  pocket." 

"Whose  photograph  is  it?" 

"His  own." 

That  was  true,  for  the  photograph  had  been  given 
me  that  same  evening  at  the  hotel. 

"What  is  his  attitude  in  this  portrait?" 

"He  is  standing  up  with  his  hat  in  his  hand." 

She  saw  these  things  in  that  card,  in  that  piece 
of  white  pasteboard,  as  if  she  had  seen  them  in  a 
looking-glass. 

The  young  women  were  frightened,  and  exclaimed: 
"That  is  quite  enough!     Quite,  quite  enough!" 

But  the  doctor  said  to  her  authoritatively:  "You 
will  get  up  at  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning;  then 
you  will  go  and  call  on  your  cousin  at  his  hotel  and 
ask  him  to  lend  you  the  five  thousand  francs  which 
your  husband  asks  of  you,  and  which  he  will  ask  for 
when  he  sets  out  on  his  coming  journey." 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  55 

Then  he  woke  her  up. 

On  returning  to  my  hotel,  I  thought  over  this 
curious  seance  and  I  was  assailed  by  doubts,  not  as 
to  my  cousin's  absolute  and  undoubted  good  faith, 
for  I  had  known  her  as  well  as  if  she  had  been  my 
own  sister  ever  since  she  was  a  child,  but  as  to  a 
possible  trick  on  the  doctor's  part.  Had  not  he,  per- 
haps, kept  a  glass  hidden  in  his  hand,  which  he 
showed  to  the  young  woman  in  her  sleep  at  the 
same  time  as  he  did  the  card  ?  Professional  conjur- 
ers do  things  which  are  just  as  singular. 

However,  I  went  to  bed,  and  this  morning,  at 
about  half  past  eight,  I  was  awakened  by  my  foot- 
man, who  said  to  me:  "Madame  Sable  has  asked  to 
see  you  immediately,  Monsieur."  I  dressed  hastily  and 
went  to  her. 

She  sat  down  in  some  agitation,  with  her  eyes  on 
the  floor,  and  without  raising  her  veil  said  to  me:  "My 
dear  cousin,  I  am  going  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you." 

"What  is  it,  cousin?  " 

"I  do  not  like  to  tell  you,  and  yet  I  must.  I  am 
in  absolute  want  of  five  thousand  francs." 

"What,  you?" 

"Yes,  I,  or  rather  my  husband,  who  has  asked 
me  to  procure  them  for  him." 

1  was  so  stupefied  that  I  hesitated  to  answer.  I 
asked  myself  whether  she  had  not  really  been 
making  fun  of  me  with  Dr.  Parent,  if  it  were  not 
merely  a  very  well-acted  farce  which  had  been  got 
up  beforehand.  On  looking  at  her  attentively,  how- 
ever, my  doubts  disappeared.  She  was  trembling 
with  grief,  so  painful  was  this  step  to  her,  and  1 
was  sure  that  her  throat  was  full  of  sobs. 


56  THE  HORLA 

I  knew  that  she  was  very  rich  and  so  I  contin- 
ued: "What!  Has  not  your  husband  five  thousand 
francs  at  his  disposal?  Come,  think.  Are  you  sure 
that  he  commissioned  you  to  ask  me  for  them?" 

She  hesitated  for  a  few  seconds,  as  if  she  were 
making  a  great  effort  to  search  her  memory,  and  then 
she  rephed:     "Yes  —  yes,  1  am  quite  sure  of  it." 

"He  has  written  to  you?" 

She  hesitated  again  and  reflected,  and  I  guessed 
the  torture  of  her  thoughts.  She  did  not  know. 
She  only  knev\^  that  she  was  to  borrow  five  thou- 
sand francs  of  me  for  her  husband.  So  she  told 
a  He. 

"Yes,  he  has  written  to  me." 

"When,  pray?  You  did  not  mention  it  to  me 
yesterday." 

"I  received  his  letter  this  morning." 

"Can  you  show  it  to  me?" 

"No;  no  —  no  —  it  contained  private  matters,  things 
too  personal  to  ourselves.     I  burned  it." 

"So  your  husband  runs  into  debt?" 

She  hesitated  again,  and  then  murmured:  "  I  do 
not  know." 

Thereupon  I  said  bluntly:  "I  have  not  five  thou- 
sand francs  at  my  disposal  at  this  moment,  my  dear 
cousin." 

She  uttered  a  cry,  as  if  she  were  in  pairj  and  said: 
"Oh!  oh!  I  beseech  you,  I  beseech  you  to  get  them 
for  me." 

She  got  excited  and  clasped  her  hands  as  if  she 
were  praying  to  me  !  I  heard  her  voice  change  its 
tone;  she  wept  and  sobbed,  harassed  and  dominated 
by  the  irresistible  order  that  she  had  received. 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  57 

"Oh  !  oh  !  I  beg  you  to  —  if  3^ou  knew  what  I  am 
suflfering  —  I  want  them  to-day." 

I  had  pity  on  her:  "You  shall  have  them  by  and 
by,  I  swear  to  you." 

"Oh!  thank  you!  thank  you!  How  kind  you 
are." 

I  continued:  "Do  you  remember  what  took  place 
at  your  house  last  night?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  remember  that  Dr.  Parent  sent  you  to 
sleep?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh!  Very  well  then;  he  ordered  you  to  come 
to  me  this  morning  to  borrow  five  thousand  francs, 
and  at  this  moment  you  are  obeying  that  sugges- 
tion." 

She  considered  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
replied:  "But  as  it  is  my  husband  who  wants 
them—" 

For  a  whole  hour  I  tried  to  convince  her,  but 
could  not  succeed,  and  when  she  had  gone  I  went  to 
the  doctor.  He  was  just  going  out,  and  he  listened 
to  me  with  a  smile,  and  said:  "Do  you  believe 
now?" 

"Yes,  I  cannot  help  it." 

"Let  us  go  to  your  cousin's." 

She  was  already  resting  on  a  couch,  overcome 
with  fatigue.  The  doctor  felt  her  pulse,  looked  at 
her  for  some  time  with  one  hand  raised  toward  her 
eyes,  which  she  closed  by  degrees  under  the  irresisti- 
ble power  of  this  magnetic  influence.  When  she  was 
asleep,  he  said: 

"Your  husband  does  not  require  the  five  thousand 


58  THE  HORlJi 

francs  any  longer!  You  must,  therefore,  forget  <^hat 
you  asked  your  cousin  to  lend  them  to  you,  and,  if 
he  speaks  to  you  about  it,  you  will  not  understand 
him." 

Then  he  woke  her  up,  and  I  took  out  a  pocket- 
book  and  said:  "Here  is  what  you  asked  me  for 
this  morning,  my  dear  cousin."  But  she  was  so  sur- 
prised, that  I  did  not  venture  to  persist;  nevertheless, 
I  tried  to  recall  the  circumstance  to  her,  but  she 
denied  it  vigorously,  thought  that  I  was  making  fun 
of  her,  and  in  the  end,  very  nearly  lost  her  temper. 

There!  I  have  just  come  back,  and  I  have  not  been 
able  to  eat  any  lunch,  for  this  experiment  has  alto- 
gether upset  me. 

July  ig.  Many  people  to  whom  I  have  told  the 
adventure  have  laughed  at  me.  I  no  longer  know 
what  to  think.     The  wise  man  says:     Perhaps? 

July  21.  I  dined  at  Bougival,  and  then  I  spent 
the  evening  at  a  boatmen's  ball.  Decidedly  every- 
thing depends  on  place  and  surroundings.  It  would 
be  the  height  of  folly  to  believe  in  the  supernatural 
on  the  He  de  la  Grenoiiilliere.*  But  on  the  top  of 
Mont  Saint-Michel  or  in  India,  we  are  terribly  under 
the  influence  of  our  surroundings.  I  shall  return  home 
next  week. 

July  JO.  I  came  back  to  my  own  house  yester- 
day.    Everything  is  going  on  well. 

August  2.  Nothing  fresh;  it  .is  splendid  weather, 
and  I  spend  my  days  in  watching  the  Seine  flow 
past. 


■  Frog-island. 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  59 

August  4.  Quarrels  among  my  servants.  They 
declare  that  the  glasses  are  broken  in  the  cupboards 
at  night.  The  footman  accuses  the  cook,  she  accuses 
the  needlewoman,  and  the  latter  accuses  the  other 
two.  Who  is  the  culprit?  It  would  take  a  clever 
person  to  tell. 

August  6.    This  time,  I  am  not  mad.    I  have  seen 

—  I  have  seen  —  I  have  seen!  —  I  can  doubt  no  longer 

—  /  have  seen  it! 

I  was  walking  at  two  o'clock  among  my  rose- 
trees,  in  the  full  sunlight  —  in  the  walk  bordered  by 
autumn  roses  which  are  beginning  to  fall.  As  I 
stopped  to  look  at  a  Geant  de  Bataille,  which  had 
three  splendid  blooms,  I  distinctly  saw  the  stalk  of 
one  of  the  roses  bend  close  to  me,  as  if  an  invisible 
hand  had  bent  it,  and  then  break,  as  if  that  hand  had 
picked  it!  Then  the  flower  raised  itself,  following 
the  curve  which  a  hand  would  have  described  in 
carrying  it  toward  a  mouth,  and  remained  suspended 
in  the  transparent  air,  alone  and  motionless,  a  terrible 
red  spot,  three  yards  from  my  eyes,  in  desperation 
I  rushed  at  it  to  take  it!  I  found  nothing;  it  had 
disappeared.  Then  1  was  seized  with  furious  rage 
against  myself,  for  it  is  not  wholesome  for  a  reason- 
able and  serious  man  to  have  such  hallucinations. 

But  was  it  a  hallucination  ?  I  turned  to  look  for 
the  stalk,  and  I  found  it  immediately  under  the  bush, 
freshly  broken,  between  the  two  other  roses  which 
remained  on  the  branch.  I  returned  home,  then, 
with  a  much  disturbed  mind;  Uir  1  am  certain  now, 
certain  as  1  am  of  the  alternation  of  day  and  night, 
that  there  exists  close  to  me  an  invisible  being  who 
iives  on  milk  and  on   water,  who   can  touch  objects. 


6o  THE  HORLA 

take  them  and  change  their  places;  who  is,  conse- 
quently, endowed  with  a  material  nature,  although 
imperceptible  to  sense,  and  who  lives  as  I  do,  under 
my  roof — 

August  /.  I  slept  tranquilly.  He  drank  the  water 
out  of  my  decanter,  but  did  not  disturb  my  sleep. 

1  ask  myself  whether  1  am  mad.  As  I  was  walk- 
ing just  now  in  the  sun  by  the  riverside,  doubts  as 
to  my  own  sanity  arose  in  me;  not  vague  doubts 
such  as  I  have  had  hitherto,  but  precise  and  absolute 
doubts.  I  have  seen  mad  people,  and  I  have  known 
some  who  were  quite  intelligent,  lucid,  even  clear- 
sighted in  every  concern  of  life,  except  on  one  point. 
They  could  speak  clearly,  readily,  profoundly  on  every- 
thing; till  their  thoughts  were  caught  in  the  breakers 
of  their  delusions  and  went  to  pieces  there,  were 
dispersed  and  swamped  in  that  furious  and  terrible 
sea  of  fogs  and  squalls  which  is  called  madness. 

I  certainly  should  think  that  I  was  mad,  abso- 
lutely mad,  if  I  were  not  conscious  that  I  knew  my 
state,  if  I  could  not  fathom  it  and  analyze  it  with  the 
most  complete  lucidity.  1  should,  in  fact,  be  a  rea- 
sonable man  laboring  under  a  hallucination.  Some 
unknown  disturbance  must  have  been  excited  in  my 
brain,  one  of  those  disturbances  which  physiologists 
of  the  present  day  try  to  note  and  to  fix  precisely, 
and  that  disturbance  must  have  caused  a  profound 
gulf  in  my  mind  and  in  the  order  and  logic  of  my 
ideas.  Similar  phenomena  occur  in  dreams,  and  lead 
us  through  the  most  unlikely  phantasmagoria,  without 
causing  us  any  surprise,  because  our  verifying 
apparatus  and  our  sense  of  control  have  gone  to 
sleep,  while  our  imaginative  faculty  wakes  and  works. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  6l 

Was  it  not  possible  that  one  of  the  imperceptible 
keys  of  the  cerebral  finger-board  had  been  paralyzed 
in  me  ?  Some  men  lose  the  recollection  of  proper 
names,  or  of  verbs,  or  of  numbers,  or  merely  of  dates, 
in  consequence  of  an  accident.  The  localization  of 
all  the  avenues  of  thought  has  been  accomplished 
nowadays;  what,  then,  would  there  be  surprising  in 
the  fact  that  my  faculty  of  controlling  the  unreality  of 
certain  hallucinations  should  be  destroyed  for  the 
time  being? 

I  thought  of  all  this  as  I  walked  by  the  side  of  the 
water.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly  on  the  river 
and  made  earth  delightful,  while  it  filled  me  with 
love  for  life,  for  the  swallows,  whose  swift  agility  is 
always  delightful  in  my  eyes,  for  the  plants  by  the 
riverside,  whose  rustling  is  a  pleasure  to  my  ears. 

By  degrees,  however,  an  inexplicable  feeling  of 
discomfort  seized  me.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  some 
unknown  force  were  numbing  and  stopping  me,  were 
preventing  me  from  going  further  and  were  calling 
me  back.  I  felt  that  painful  wish  to  return  which 
comes  on  you  when  you  have  left  a  beloved  invalid 
at  home,  and  are  seized  by  a  presentiment  that  he  is 
worse. 

1,  therefore,  returned  despite  of  myself,  feeling  cer- 
tain that  1  should  find  some  bad  news  awaiting  me, 
a  letter  or  a  telegram.  There  was  nothing,  however, 
and  I  was  surprised  and  uneasy,  more  so  than  il  I 
had  had  another  fantastic  vision. 

August  8.  I  spent  a  terrible  evening,  yesterday. 
He  does  not  show  himself  any  more,  but  1  feel  that 
He  is  near  me,  watching  me,  looking  at  me,  pene- 
trating me,  dominating  me,  and  more  terrible  to  me 


62  THE   HORLA 

when  He  hides  himself  thus  than  if  He  were  to 
manifest  his  constant  and  invisible  presence  by  super- 
natural phenomena.     However,  I  slept. 

August  g.     Nothing,  but  I  am  afraid. 

August  10.  Nothing;  but  what  will  happen  to- 
morrow ? 

August  II.  Still  nothing.  I  cannot  stop  at  home 
with  this  fear  hanging  over  me  and  these  thoughts  in 
my  mind;  I  shall  go  away. 

August  12.  Ten  o'clock  at  night.  All  day  long  I 
have  been  trying  to  get  away,  and  have  not  been 
able.  1  contemplated  a  simple  and  easy  act  of  liberty, 
a  carriage  ride  to  Rouen  —  and  I  have  not  been  able 
to  do  it.     What  is  the  reason  ? 

August  ij.  When  one  is  attacked  by  certain 
maladies,  the  springs  of  our  physical  being  seem 
broken,  our  energies  destroyed,  our  muscles  relaxed, 
our  bones  to  be  as  soft  as  our  flesh,  and  our  blood 
as  liquid  as  water.  1  am  experiencing  the  same  in 
my  moral  being,  in  a  strange  and  distressing  man- 
ner. I  have  no  longer  any  strength,  any  courage, 
any  self-control,  nor  even  any  power  to  set  my  own 
will  in  motion.  1  have  no  power  left  to  wtl!  any-r 
thing,  but  some  one  does  it  for  me  and  I  obey. 

August  14.  1  am  lost!  Somebody  possesses  my 
soul  and  governs  it!  Somebody  orders  all  my  acts,  all 
my  movements,  all  my  thoughts.  1  am  no  longer 
master  of  myself,  nothing  except  an  enslaved  and 
terrified  spectator  of  the  things  which  I  do.  I  wish 
to  go  out;  1  cannot.  He  does  not  wish  to;  and  so  I 
remain,  trembling  and  distracted  in  the  armchair  in 
which  he  keeps  me  sitting.  I  merely  wish  to  get  up 
and   to   rouse   myself,   so   as  to   think  that  I  am  still 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  6^ 

master  of  myself:  I  cannot!  I  am  riveted  to  my 
chair,  and  my  chair  adheres  to  the  floor  in  such  a 
manner  that  no  force  of  mine  can  move  us. 

Then  suddenly,  I  must,  I  TJiust  go  to  the  foot  of 
my  garden  to  pick  some  strawberries  and  eat  them 
■ — and  I  go  there.  I  pick  the  strawberries  and  I  eat 
them!  Oh!  my  God!  my  God!  Is  there  a  God.^  If 
there  be  one,  deliver  me!  save  me!  succor  me!  Par- 
don! Pity!  Mercy!  Save  me!  Oh!  what  sufferings! 
what  torture!  what  horror! 

August  75.  Certainly  this  is  the  way  in  which 
my  poor  cousin  was  possessed  and  swayed,  when  she 
came  to  borrow  five  thousand  francs  of  me.  She 
was  under  the  power  of  a  strange  will  which  had 
entered  into  her,  like  another  soul,  a  parasitic  and 
ruling  soul.     Is  the  world  coming  to  an   end.^ 

But  who  is  he,  this  invisible  being  that  rules  me, 
this  unknowable  being,  this  rover  of  a  supernatufal 
race  ? 

Invisible  beings  exist,  then  I  How  is  it,  then,  that 
since  the  beginning  of  the  world  they  have  never 
manifested  themselves  in  such  a  manner  as  they  do  to 
me?  I  have  never  read  anything  that  resembles  what 
goes  on  in  my  house.  Oh!  If  1  could  only  leave  it, 
if  1  could  only  go  away  and  flee,  and  never  return,  I 
should  be  saved;  but  I  cannot. 

August  16.  I  managed  to  escape  to-day  for  two 
hours,  like  a  prisoner  who  (Inds  the  door  of  his  dun- 
geon accidentally  open.  I  suddenly  felt  that  I  was 
free  and  that  He  was  far  away,  and  so  I  gave  orders 
to  put  the  horses  in  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  I 
drove  to  Rouen.  Oh!  how  delightful  to  be  able  to 
say  to  my  coachman:     "Go  to  Rouen!" 


64  THE   HORLA 

I  made  him  pull  up  before  the  library,  and  I 
begged  them  to  lend  me  Dr.  Herrmann  Herestauss's 
treatise  on  the  unknown  inhabitants  of  the  ancient 
and  modern  world. 

Then,  as  1  was  getting  into  my  carriage,  I  intended 
to  say:  "To  the  railway  station!"  but  instead  of 
this  I  shouted  —  I  did  not  speak,  but  I  shouted  —  in 
such  a  loud  voice  that  all  the  passers-by  turned 
round:  "Home!"  and  1  fell  back  on  to  the  cushion 
of  my  carriage,  overcome  by  mental  agony.  He  had 
found  me  out  and  regained  possession  of  me. 

August  ly.  Oh!  Whcit  a  night!  what  a  night! 
And  yet  it  seems  to  me  that  I  ought  to  rejoice.  I 
read  until  one  o'clock  in  the  morning!  Herestauss, 
Doctor  of  Philosophy  and  Theogony,  wrote  the  his- 
tory and  the  manifestation  of  all  those  invisible  beings 
which  hover  around  man,  or  of  whom  he  dreams. 
He  describes  their  origin,  their  domains,  their  power; 
but  none  of  them  resembles  the  one  which  haunts 
me.  One  might  say  that  man,  ever  since  he  has 
thought,  has  had  a  foreboding  and  a  fear  of  a  new 
being,  stronger  than  himself,  his  successor  in  this 
world,  and  that,  feeling  him  near,  and  not  being  able 
to  foretell  the  nature  of  the  unseen  one,  he  has,  in 
his  terror,  created  the  whole  race  of  hidden  beings, 
vague  phantoms  born  of  fear. 

Having,  therefore,  read  until  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  went  and  sat  down  at  the  open  window, 
in  order  to  cool  my  forehead  and  my  thoughts  in  the 
calm  night  air.  It  was  very  pleasant  and  warm! 
How  I  should  have  enjoyed  such  a  night  formerly! 

There  .was  no  moon,  but  the  stars  darted  out  their 
rays  in  the  dark  heavens.   Who  inhabits  those  worlds  i 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  65 

What  forms,  what  Hving  beings,  what  animals  are 
there  yonder?  Do  those  who  are  thinkers  in  those 
distant  worlds  know  more  than  we  do  ?  What  can 
they  do  more  than  we?  W^hat  do  they  see  which  we 
do  not  ?  Will  not  one  of  them,  some  day  or  other, 
traversing  space,  appear  on  our  earth  to  conquer  it, 
just  as  formerly  the  Norsemen  crossed  the  sea  in 
order  to  subjugate  nations  feebler  than  themselves? 

We  are  so  weak,  so  powerless,  sc  ignorant,  so 
small  —  we  who  live  on  this  particle  of  niud  which 
revolves  in  liquid  air. 

1  fell  asleep,  dreaming  thus  in  the  cool  night  air, 
and  then,  having  slept  for  about  three  quarters  of  an 
hour,  I  opened  my  eyes  without  moving,  awakened 
by  an  indescribably  confused  and  strange  sensation. 
At  first  I  saw  nothing,  and  then  suddenly  it  appeared 
to  me  as  if  a  page  of  the  book,  which  had  remained 
open  on  my  table,  turned  over  of  its  own  accord. 
Not  a  breath  of  air  had  come  in  at  my  window,  and 
1  was  surprised  and  waited.  In  about  four  minutes, 
I  saw,  I  saw  —  yes  I  saw  with  my  own  eyes  —  an- 
other page  lift  itself  up  and  fall  down  on  the  others, 
as  if  a  finger  had  turned  it  over.  My  armchair  was 
empty,  appeared  empty,  but  \  knew  that  He  was  there, 
He,  and  sitting  in  my  place,  and  that  He  was  reading. 
With  a  furious  bound,  the  bound  of  an  enraged  wild 
beast  that  wishes  to  disembowel  its  tamer,  I  crossed 
my  room  to  seize  him,  to  strangle  him,  to  kill  him! 
But  before  I  could  reach  it,  my  chair  fell  over  as  if 
somebody  had  run  away  from  me.  My  table  rocked, 
my  lamp  fell  and  went  out,  and  my  window  closed 
as  if  some  thief  had  been  surprised  and  had  fled  out 
into  the  night,  shutting  it  behind  him. 

Maup.  1 — 5 


o6  THE  HORLA 

So  He  had  run  away;  He  had  been  afraid;  He, 
afraid  of  me! 

So  to-morrow,  or  later- -some  day  or  other,  I 
should  be  able  to  hold  him  in  my  dutches  and  crush 
him  against  the  ground!  Do  not  dogs  occasionally 
bite  and  strangle  their  masters  ? 

August  i8.  I  have  been  thinking  the  whole  day 
long.  Oh!  yes,  1  will  obey  Him,  follow  His  impulses, 
fulfill  all  His  wishes,  show  myself  humble,  submissive, 
a  coward.  He  is  the  stronger;  but  an  hour  will 
come. 

August  ig.  I  know,  I  know,  I  know  all!  I  have 
just  read  the  following  in  the  "Revue  du  Monde 
Scientifique":  "A  curious  piece  of  news  comes  to 
us  from  Rio  de  Janeiro.  Madness,  an  epidemic  of 
madness,  which  may  be  compared  to  that  contagious 
madness  which  attacked  the  people  of  Europe  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  is  at  this  moment  raging  in  the  Province 
of  San-Paulo.  The  frightened  inhabitants  are  leaving 
their  houses,  deserting  their  villages,  abandoning  their 
land,  saying  that  they  are  pursued,  possessed,  gov- 
erned like  human  cattle  by  invisible,  though  tangible 
beings,  by  a  species  of  vampire,  which  feeds  on  their 
life  while  they  are  asleep,  and  which,  besides,  drinks 
water  and  milk  without  appearing  to  touch  any  other 
nourishment. 

"Professor  Don  Pedro  Henriques,  accompanied  by 
several  medical  savants,  has  gone  to  the  Province  of 
San-Paulo,  in  order  to  study  the  origin  and  the  mani 
festations  of  this  surprising  madness  on  the  spot,  and 
to  propose  such  measures  to  the  Emperor  as  may 
appear  to  him  to  be  most  fitted  to  restore  the  mad 
population  to  reason." 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  67 

Ah  !  Ah  !  I  remember  now  that  fine  BraziHan 
three-master  which  passed  in  front  of  my  windows 
as  it  was  going-  up  the  Seine,  on  the  eighth  of  last 
May  !  I  thought  it  looked  so  pretty,  so  white  and 
bright  !  That  Being  was  on  board  of  her,  coming 
from  there,  where  its  race  sprang  from.  And  it  saw 
me  !  It  saw  my  house,  which  was  also  white,  and 
He  sprang  from  the  ship  on  to  the  land.  Oh  !  Good 
heavens  ! 

Now  I  know,  I  can  divine.  The  reign  of  man  is 
over,  and  He  has  come.  He  whom  disquieted  priests 
exorcised,  whom  sorcerers  evoked  on  dark  nights, 
without  seeing  him  appear,  He  to  whom  the  imagina- 
tions of  the  transient  masters  of  the  world  lent  all  the 
Fionstrous  or  graceful  forms  of  gnomes,  spirits,  genii, 
f'liries,  and  familiar  spirits.  After  the  coarse  concep- 
tions of  primitive  fear,  men  more  enlightened  gave 
him  a  truer  form.  Mcsmer  divined  him,  and  ten  years 
ago  physicians  accurately  discovered  the  nature  of  his 
power,  even  before  He  exercised  it  himself.  They 
played  with  that  weapon  of  their  new  Lord,  the  sway 
of  a  mysterious  will  over  the  human  soul,  which  had 
become  enslaved.  They  called  it  mesmerism,  hypno- 
tism, suggestion,  I  know  not  what  ?  I  have  seen 
them  diverting  themselves  liKe  rash  children  with  this 
horrible  power  1  Woe  to  us!  Woe  to  man!  He  has 
come,  the  —  the  —  what  does  He  call  himself — the  — 
1  fancy  that  he  is  shouting  out  his  name  to  me  and 
I  do  not  hear  him — the  —  yes  —  He  is  shouting  it 
out  —  1  am  listening  —  I  cannot  —  repeat  —  it  —  Horla  — 
I  have  heard  —  the  Horla  —  it  is  He  —  the  Horla — He 
has  come!  — 

Ah!   the   vulture   has   eaten   the   pigeon,   the   wolf 


5p  THE  HORLA 

has  eaten  the  lamb;  the  Hon  has  devoured  the  sharp- 
horned  buffalo;  man  has  killed  the  lion  with  an  ar- 
row, with  a  spear,  with  gunpowder;  but  the  Horla 
will  make  of  man  what  man  has  made  of  the  horse 
and  of  the  ox:  his  chattel,  his  slave,  and  his  food,  by 
the  mere  power  of  his  will.     Woe  to  us! 

But,  nevertheless,  sometimes  the  animal  rebels  and 
kills  the  man  who  has  subjugated  it.  1  should  also 
like  —  I  shall  be  able  to  —  but  I  must  know  Him, 
touch  Him,  see  Him!  Learned  men  say  that  eyes  of 
animals,  as  they  differ  from  ours,  do  not  distinguish 
as  ours  do.  And  my  eye  cannot  distinguish  this 
newcomer  who  is  oppressing  me. 

Why?  Oh!  Now  1  remember  the  words  of  the 
monk  at  Mont  Saint-Michel:  "Can  we  see  the  hun- 
dred-thousandth part  of  what  exists?  Listen;  there 
is  the  wind  which  is  the  strongest  force  in  nature; 
it  knocks  men  down,  blows  down  buildings,  up- 
roots trees,  raises  the  sea  into  mountains  of  water, 
destroys  cliffs,  and  casts  great  ships  on  to  the  breakers; 
it  kills,  it  whistles,  it  sighs,  it  roars,— have  you  ever 
seen  it,  and  can  you  see  it?  It  exists  for  all  that, 
however!" 

And  I  went  on  thinking:  my  eyes  are  so  weak,  so 
imperfect,  that  they  do  not  even  distinguish  hard 
bodies,  if  they  are  as  transparent  as  glass!  If  a 
glass  without  quicksilver  behind  it  were  to  bar  my 
way,  I  should  run  into  it,  just  like  a  bird  which 
has  flown  into  a  room  breaks  its  head  against  the 
windowpanes.  A  thousand  things,  moreover,  de- 
ceive a  man  and  lead  him  astray.  How  then  is  it 
surprising  that  he  cannot  perceive  a  new  body  which 
is  penetrated  and  pervaded  by  the  light? 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  6q 

A  new  being!  Why  not?  It  was  assuredly  bound 
to  come!  Why  should  we  be  the  last?  We  do  not 
distinguish  it,  like  all  the  others  created  before  us? 
The  reason  is,  that  its  nature  is  more  delicate,  its 
body  finer  and  more  finished  than  ours.  Our  make- 
up is  so  weak,  so  awkwardly  conceived;  our  body  is 
encumbered  with  organs  that  are  always  tired,  always 
being  strained  like  locks  that  are  too  complicated; 
it  lives  like  a  plant  and  like  an  animal  nourishing 
itself  with  difficulty  on  air,  herbs,  and  flesh;  it  is  a 
brute  machine  which  is  a  prey  to  maladies,  to  mal- 
formations, to  decay;  it  is  broken-winded,  badly 
regulated,  simple  and  eccentric,  ingeniously  yet 
badly  made,  a  coarse  and  yet  a  delicate  mechanism, 
in  brief,  the  outline  of  a  being  which  might  become 
intelligent  and  great. 

There  are  only  a  few  —  so  few  —  stages  of  devel- 
opment in  this  world,  from  the  oyster  up  to  man. 
Why  should  there  not  be  one  more,  when  once  that 
period  is  accomplished  which  separates  the  successive 
products   one  from  the  other? 

Why  not  one  more  ?  Why  not,  also,  other  trees 
with  immense,  splendid  fiowers,  perfuming  whole 
regions?  Why  not  other  elements  beside  fire,  air, 
earth,  and  water?  There  are  four,  only  four,  nursing 
fathers  of  various  beings!  What  a  pity!  Why  should 
not  there  be  forty,  four  hundred,  four  thousand! 
How  poor  everything  is,  how  mean  and  wretched  — 
grudgingly  given,  poorly  invented,  clumsily  made  ! 
Ah!  the  elephant  and  the  hippopotamus,  what  power! 
And  the  camel,  what  suppleness! 

But  the  butterfly,  you  will  say,  a  flying  flowerl 
1  dream  of  one  that  should  be  as  large  as  a  hundred 


JO  THE   HORLA 

worlds,  with  wings  whose  shape,  beauty,  colors,  and 
motion  I  cannot  even  express.  But  I  see  it  —  it  flut- 
ters from  star  to  star,  refreshing  them  and  perfuming 
them  with  the  light  and  harmonious  breath  of  its 
flight!  And  the  people  up  there  gaze  at  it  as  it 
passes  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight! 

What  is  the  matter  with  me?  It  is  He,  the  Horia 
who  haunts  me,  and  who  makes  me  think  of  these 
foolish  things!  He  is  within  me,  He  is  becoming  my 
soul;  I  shall  kill  him! 

Aiigtist  20.  1  shall  kill  Him.  I  have  seen  Him! 
Yesterday  I  sat  down  at  my  table  and  pretended  to 
write  very  assiduously.  I  knew  quite  well  that  He 
would  come  prowling  round  me,  quite  close  to  me, 
so  close  that  I  might  perhaps  be  able  to  touch  him, 
to  seize  him.  And  then  —  then  I  should  have  the 
strength  of  desperation;  1  should  have  my  hands,  my 
knees,  my  chest,  my  forehead,  my  teeth  to  strangle 
him,  to  crush  him,  to  bite  him,  to  tear  him  to  pieces. 
And  I  watched  for  him  with  all  my  overexcited 
nerves. 

I  had  lighted  my  two  lamps  and  the  eight  wax 
candles  on  my  mantelpiece,  as  if,  by  this  light  1  should 
discover  Him. 

My  bed,  my  old  oak  bed  with  its  columns,  was 
opposite  to  me;  on  my  right  was  the  fireplace;  on 
my  left  the  door,  which  was  carefully  closed,  after  I 
had  left  it  open  for  some  time,  in  order  to  attract 
Him;  behind  me  was  a  very  high  wardrobe  with  a 
looking-glass  in  it,  which  served  me  to  dress  by  every 
day,  and  in  which  I  was  in  the  habit  of  inspecting 
myself  from  head  to  foot  every  time  I  passed  it. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DK   jMAlJf'ASSANT  71 

So  I  pretended  to  be  writing  in  order  to  deceive 
Him,  for  He  also  was  watching  me,  and  suddenly  I 
felt,  I  was  certain,  that  He  was  reading  over  my 
shoulder,  that  He  was  there,  almost  touching  my  ear. 

I  got  up  so  quickly,  with  my  hands  extended,  that 
1  almost  fell.  Horror!  It  was  as  bright  as  at  mid- 
day, but  1  did  not  see  myself  in  the  glass!  It  was 
empty,  clear,  profound,  full  of  light!  But  my  figure 
was  not  reflected  in  it  —  and  I,  I  was  opposite  to  it  I 
I  saw  the  large,  clear  glass  from  top  to  bottom,  and 
I  looked  at  it  with  unsteady  eyes.  I  did  not  dare 
advance;  I  did  not  venture  to  make  a  movement; 
feeling  certain,  nevertheless,  that  He  was  there,  but 
that  He  would  escape  me  again,  He  whose  impercep- 
tible body  had  absorbed  my  reflection. 

How  frightened  1  was!  And  then  suddenly  I  be- 
gan to  see  myself  through  a  mist  in  the  depths  of 
the  looking-glass,  in  a  mist  as  it  were,  or  through  a 
veil  of  water;  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  this  water 
were  flowing  slowly  from  left  to  right,  and  making 
my  figure  clearer  every  moment.  It  was  like  the  end 
of  an  eclipse.  Whatever  hid  me  did  not  appear  to 
possess  any  clearly  defined  outlines,  but  was  a  sort 
of  opaque  transparency,  which  gradually  grew  clearer. 

At  last  1  was  able  to  distinguish  myself  completely, 
as  I  do  every  day  when  I  look  at  myself. 

I  had  seen  Him!  And  the  horror  of  it  remained  with 
me,  and  makes  me  shudder  even  now. 

August  21.  How  could  1  kill  Him,  since  I  could  not 
get  hold  of  Him  }  Poison  .^  But  He  would  see  me  mix 
it  with  the  water;  and  then,  would  our  poisons  have 
any  effect  on  His  impalpable  body.^  No  —  no — no 
doubt  about  the  matter.     Then? — thenj* 


72  THE  HORLA 

August  22.  I  sent  for  a  blacksmith  from  Rouen 
and  ordered  iron  shutters  of  him  for  my  room, 
such  as  some  private  hotels  in  Paris  have  on  the 
ground  floor,  for  fear  of  thieves,  and  he  is  going  to 
make  me  a  similar  door  as  well.  1  have  made  my- 
self out  a  coward,  but  I  do  not  care  sbout  that  I 

^■■- September  jo.  Rouen,  Hotel  Continental.  It  is 
done;  it  is  done  —  but  is  He  dead?  My  mind  is 
thoroughly  upset  by  what  I  have  seen. 

Well  then,  yesterday,  the  locksmith  having  put  on 
the  iron  shutters  and  door,  I  left  everything  open 
until  midnight,  although  it  was  getting  cold. 

Suddenly  I  felt  that  He  was  there,  and  joy,  mad 
joy  took  possession  of  me.  I  got  up  softly,  and  I 
walked  to  the  right  and  left  for  some  time,  so  that  He 
might  not  guess  anything;  then  1  took  off  my  boots 
and  put  on  my  slippers  carelessly;  then  I  fastened  the 
iron  shutters  and  going  back  to  the  door  quickly  I 
double-locked  it  with  a  padlock,  putting  the  key  into 
my  pocket. 

Suddenly  I  noticed  that  He  was  moving  restlessly 
round  me,  that  in  his  turn  He  was  frightened  and 
was  ordering  me  to  let  Him  out.  I  nearly  yielded, 
though  I  did  not  quite,  but  putting  my  back  to  the 
door,  I  half  opened  it,  just  enough  to  allow  me  to  go 
out  backward,  and  as  I  am  very  tall,  my  head  touched 
the  lintel.  1  was  sure  that  He  had  not  been  able  to 
escape,  and  I  shut  Him  up  quite  alone,  quite  alone. 
What  happiness!  I  had  Him  fast.  Then  I  ran  down- 
stairs into  the  drawing-room  which  was  under  my 
bedroom,  I  took  the  two  lamps  and  poured  all  the 
oil  on  to  the  carpet,  the  furniture,  everywhere;  then 


WORKS  OF  CUy  DE  MAUPASSANT  y^ 

I   set   fire   to   it   and   made   my   escape,   after   having 

carefully  double  locked  the  door. 

1  went  and  bid  myself  at  the  bottom  of  the  gar- 
den, in  a  dump  of  laurel  bushes.  How  long  it  was! 
how  long  it  was!  Everything  was  dark,  silent,  mo- 
tionless, not  a  breath  of  air  and  not  a  star,  but  heavy 
banks  of  clouds  which  one  could  not  see,  but  which 
weighed,  oh!  so  heavily  on  my  soul. 

I  looked  at  my  house  and  waited.  How  long  it 
was!  I  already  began  to  think  that  the  fire  had  gone 
out  of  its  own  accord,  or  that  He  had  extinguished 
it,  when  one  of  the  lower  windows  gave  way  under 
the  violence  of  the  flames,  and  a  long,  soft,  caressing 
sheet  of  red  flame  mounted  up  the  white  wall,  and 
kissed  it  as  high  as  the  roof.  The  light  fell  on  to  the 
trees,  the  branches,  and  the  leaves,  and  a  shiver  of 
fear  pervaded  them  also!  The  birds  awoke;  a  dog 
began  to  howl,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  day 
were  breaking!  Almost  immediately  two  other  win- 
dows flew  into  fragments,  and  \  saw  that  the  whole 
of  the  lower  part  of  my  house  was  nothing  but  a 
terrible  furnace.  But  a  cry,  a  horrible,  shrill,  heart- 
rending cry,  a  woman's  cry,  sounded  through  the 
night,  and  two  garret  windows  were  opened!  I  had 
forgotten  the  servants!  1  saw  the  terror-struck  faces, 
and  the  frantic  waving  of  their  arms! 

Then,  overwhelmed  with  horror,  I  ran  off  to  the 
village,  shouting:  "Help!  help!  fire!  fire!"  Meeting 
some  people  who  were  already  coming  on  to  the 
scene,  I  went  back  with  them  to  see! 

By  this  time  the  house  was  nothing  but  a  horrible 
and  magnificent  funeral  pile,  a  monstrous  pyre  which 
lit   up   the  whole    country,  a   pyre  where   men   were 


74  THE   HORLA 

burning,  and  where  He  was  burning  also,  He,  He, 
my  prisoner,  that  new  Being,  the  new  Master,  the 
Horla! 

Suddenly  the  whole  roof  fell  in  between  the  walls, 
and  a  volcano  of  flames  darted  up  to  the  sky. 
Through  all  the  windows  which  opened  on  to  that 
furnace,  I  saw  the  flames  darting,  and  1  reflected  that 
He  was  there,  in  that  kiln,  dead. 

Dead?  Perhaps.^  His  body?  Was  not  his  body, 
which  was  transparent,  indestructible   by  such  means  { 

as  would  kill  ours  ? 

If  He  were  not  dead  ?  Perhaps  time  alone  has 
power  over  that  Invisible  and  Redoubtable  Being. 
Why  this  transparent,  unrecognizable  body,  this  body 
belonging  to  a  spirit,  if  it  also  had  to  fear  ills,  in- 
firmities, and  premature  destruction  ? 

Premature  destruction  ?  All  human  terror  springs 
from  that!  After  man  the  Horla.  After  him  who  can 
die  every  day,  at  any  hour,  at  any  moment,  by  any 
accident,  He  came.  He  who  was  only  to  die  at  his 
own  proper  hour  and  minute,  because  He  had  touched 
the  limits  of  his  existence! 

No  —  no  —  there  is  no  doubt  about  it  —  He  is  not 
dead.     Then  —  then  —  I  suppose  I  must  kill  myself! 


MISS     HARRIET 


HERE  were  seven  of  us  in  a  four- 
in-hand,  four  women  and  three 
men,  one  of  whom  was  on  the 
box  seat  beside  the  coachman.  We 
were  following,  at  a  foot  pace,  the 
broad  highway  which  serpentines 
along  the  coast. 
Setting  out  from  Etretat  at  break  of 
day,  in  ord(T  to  visit  the  ruins  of  Tan- 
carville,  we  were  still  asleep,  chilled  by 
the  fresh  air  of  the  morning.  The  women, 
especially,  who  were  but  little  accustomed 
to  these  early  excursions,  let  their  eyelids  fall 
and  rise  every  moment,  nodding  their  heads 
or  yawning,  quite  insensible  to  the  glory  of  the 
dawn. 

it  was  autumn.  On  both  sides  of  the  road  the 
bare  fields  stretched  out,  yellowed  by  the  corn  and 
wheat  stubble  which  covered  the  soil  like  a  bristling 
growth  of  beard.  The  spongy  earth  seemed  to  smoke. 
Larks  were  singing  high  up  in  the  air,  while  other 
birds  piped  in  the  bushes. 

(75) 


76 


MISS   HARRIET 


At  length  the  sun  rose  in  front  of  us,  a  blight 
red  on  the  plane  of  the  horizon;  and  as  it  ascended, 
growing  clearer  from  minute  to  minute,  the  country 
seemed  to  awake,  to  smile,  to  shake  and  stretch 
itself,  like  a  young  girl  who  is  leaving  her  bed  in 
her  white  airy  chemise.  The  Count  d'Etraille,  who 
was  seated  on  the  box,  cried: 

"Look!  look!  a  hare!"  and  he  pointed  toward  the 
left,  indicating  a  piece  of  hedge.  The  leveret  threaded 
its  way  along,  almost  concealed  by  the  field,  only  its 
large  ears  visible.  Then  it  swerved  across  a  deep 
rut,  stopped,  again  pursued  its  easy  course,  changed 
its  direction,  stopped  anew,  disturbed,  spying  out 
every  danger,  and  undecided  as  to  the  route  it  should 
take.  Suddenly  it  began  to  run,  with  great  bounds 
from  its  hind  legs,  disappearing  finally  in  a  large 
patch  of  beet-root.  All  the  men  had  woke  up  to 
watch  the  course  of  the  beast. 

Rene  Lemanoir  then  exclaimed: 

"We  are  not  at  all  gallant  this  morning,"  and 
looking  at  his  neighbor,  the  little  Baroness  of  S^rennes, 
who  was  struggling  with  drowsiness,  he  said  to  her 
in  a  subdued  voice:  "You  are  thinking  of  your  hus- 
band. Baroness.  Reassure  yourself;  he  will  not  re- 
turn before  Saturday,  so  you  have  still  four  days." 

She  responded  to  him  with  a  sleepy  smile: 

"How  rude  you  are."  Then,  shaking  off  her  tor- 
por, she  added:  "Now,  let  somebody  say  something 
that  will  make  us  all  laugh.  You,  Monsieur  Chenal, 
who  have  the  reputation  of  possessing  a  larger  for- 
tune than  the  FJuke  of  Richelieu,  tell  us  a  love  story 
in  which  you  have  been  mixed  up,  anything  you 
like." 


WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 


77 


Leon  Chenal,  an  old  painter,  who  had  once  been 
very  handsome,  very  strong,  who  was  very  proud  of 
his  physique  and  very  amiable,  took  his  long  white 
beard  in  his  hand  and  smiled;  then,  after  a  few 
moments'  reflection,  he  became  suddenly  grave. 

"Ladies,  it  will  not  be  an  amusing  tale;  for  I  am 
going  to  relate  to  you  the  most  lamentable  love  affair 
of  my  life,  and  I  sincerely  hope  that  none  of  my 
friends  has  ever  passed  through  a  similar  experience. 


I. 

"At  that  time  I  was  twenty-five  years  old,  and  was 
making  daubs  along  the  coast  of  Normandy.  I  call 
'making  daubs'  that  wandering  about,  with  a  bag  on 
one's  back,  from  mountain  to  mountain,  under  the 
pretext  of  studying  and  of  sketching  nature.  I  know 
nothing  more  enjoyable  than  that  happy-go-lucky 
wandering  life,  in  which  you  are  perfectly  free,  with- 
out shackles  of  any  kind,  without  care,  without  pre- 
occupation, without  thought  even  of  to-morrow.  You 
go  in  any  direction  you  please,  without  any  guide 
save  your  fancy,  without  any  counselor  save  your 
eyes.  You  pull  up,  because  a  running  brook  seduces 
you,  or  because  you  are  attracted,  in  front  of  an  inn, 
by  the  smell  of  potatoes  frying.  Sometimes  it  is  the 
perfume  of  clematis  which  decides  you  in  your  choice, 
or  the  naive  glance  of  the  servant  at  an  inn.  Do  not 
despise  me  for  my  affection  for  these  rustics.  These 
girls  have  soul  as  well  as  feeling,  not  to  mention  firm 
cheeks  and  fresh  lips;  while  their  hearty  and  willing 
kisses  have  the  flavor  of  wild  fruit.     Love  always  has 


78  MISS   HARRIET 

lis  price,  come  whence  it  may.  A  heart  that  beats 
v/hen  you  make  your  appearance,  an  eye  that  weeps 
v^'hen  you  go  away,  these  are  things  so  rare,  so 
sweet,  so  precious,  that  they  must  never  be  despised. 

"1  have  had  rendezvous  in  ditches  in  which  cattle 
repose,  and  in  barns  among  the  straw,  still  steaming 
from  the  heat  of  the  day.  I  have  recollections  of 
canvas  spread  on  rude  and  creaky  benches,  and  of 
hearty,  fresh,  free  kisses,  more  delicate,  free  from 
affectation,  and  sincere  than  the  subtle  attractions  of 
charming  and  distinguished  women. 

"But  what  you  love  most  amid  all  these  varied 
adventures  are  the  country,  the  woods,  the  risings  of 
the  sun,  the  twilight,  the  light  of  the  moon.  For 
the  painter  these  are  honeymoon  trips  with  Nature. 
You  are  alone  with  her  in  that  long  and  tranquil 
rendezvous.  You  go  to  bed  in  the  fields  amid  mar- 
guerites and  wild  poppies,  and,  with  eyes  wide  open, 
you  watch  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  and  descry  in 
the  distance  the  little  village,  with  its  pointed  clock- 
tower,  which  sounds  the  hour  of  midnight. 

"You  sit  down  by  the  side  of  a  spring  which 
gushes  out  from  the  foot  of  an  oak,  amid  a  covering 
of  fragile  herbs,  growing  and  redolent  of  life.  You 
go  down  on  your  knees,  bend  forward,  and  drink 
the  cold  and  pellucid  water,  wetting  your  mustache 
and  nose;  you  drink  it  with  a  physical  pleasure,  as 
though  you  were  kissing  the  spring,  lip  to  lip.  Some- 
times, when  you  encounter  a  deep  hole,  along  the 
course  of  these  tiny  brooks,  you  plunge  into  it,  quite 
naked,  and  on  your  skin,  from  head  to  foot,  like  an 
icy  and  delicious  caress,  you  feel  the  lovely  and 
gentle  quivering  of  the  current. 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


79 


"You  are  gay  on  the  hills,  melancholy  on  the 
verge  of  pools,  exalted  when  the  sun  is  crowned  in 
an  ocean  of  blood-red  shadows,  and  when  it  casts  on 
the  rivers  its  red  reflection.  And  at  night,  under  the 
moon,  as  it  passes  across  the  vault  of  heaven,  you 
think  of  things,  singular  things,  which  would  never 
have  occurred  to  your  mind  under  the  brilliant  light 
of  day. 

"So,  in  wandering  through  the  same  country  we 
are  in  this  year,  I  came  to  the  little  village  of  Be- 
nouville,  on  the  Falaise,  between  Yport  and  Etretat. 
I  came  from  Fecamp,  following  the  coast,  a  high 
coast,  perpendicular  as  a  wall,  with  projecting  and 
rugged  rocks  falling  sheer  down  into  the  sea.  I 
had  walked  since  the  morning  on  the  close  chpped 
grass,  as  smooth  and  as  yielding  as  a  carpet.  Sing- 
ing lustily,  I  walked  with  long  strides,  looking  some- 
times at  the  slow  and  lazy  flight  of  a  gull,  with  its 
short,  white  wings,  sailing  in  the  blue  heavens, 
sometimes  at  the  green  sea,  or  at  the  brown  sails  of 
a  fishing  bark.  In  short,  I  had  passed  a  happy  day, 
a  day  of  listlessness  and  of  liberty. 

"I  was  shown  a  little  farmhouse,  where  travelers 
were  put  up,  a  kind  of  inn,  kept  by  a  peasant,  which 
stood  in  the  center  of  a  Norman  court,  surrounded 
by  a  double  row  of  beeches. 

"Quitting  the  Falaise.  I  gained  the  hamlet,  which 
was  hemmed  in  by  great  trees,  and  I  presented  my- 
self at  the  house  of  Mother  Lecacheur. 

"She  was  an  old,  wrinkled,  and  austere  rustic, 
who  always  seemed  to  yield  to  the  pressure  of  new 
customs  with  a  kind  of  contempt. 

"It  was   the  month  of  May:  the   spreading  apple- 


So  MISS   HARRIET 

trees  covered  the  court  with  a  whirling  shower  of 
blossoms  which  rained  unceasingly  both  upon  people 
and  upon  the  grass. 

"I  said: 

"'Well,  Madame  Lecacheur,  have  ycu  a  room  for 
me?' 

"Astonished  to  find  that  I  knew  her  name,  she 
answered: 

"'That  depends;  everything  is  let;  but,  all  the 
same,  there  will  be  no  harm  in  looking.' 

"  In  five  minutes  we  were  in  perfect  accord,  and  I 
deposited  my  bag  upon  the  bare  floor  of  a  rustic 
room,  furnished  with  a  bed,  two  chairs,  a  table,  and 
a  washstand.  The  room  opened  into  the^  large  and 
smoky  kitchen,  where  the  lodgers  took  their  meals 
with  the  people  of  the  farm  and  with  the  farmer 
himself,  who  was    a  widower. 

"I  washed  my  hands,  after  which  I  went  out. 
The  old  woman  was  fricasseeing  a  chicken  for  dinner 
in  a  large  fireplace,  in  which  hung  the  stew-pot, 
black  with  smoke. 

"'You  have  travelers,  then,  at  the  present  time?' 
said  1  to  her. 

"She  answered  in  an  offended  tone  of  voice: 

"'I  have  a  lady,  an  English  lady,  who  has  at- 
tained to  years  of  maturity.  She  is  occupying  my 
other  room.' 

"By  means  of  an  extra  five  sous  a  day,  I  ob- 
tained the  privilege  of  dining  out  in  the  court  when 
the  weather  was  fine, 

"  My  cover  was  then  placed  in  front  of  the  door, 
and  I  commenced  to  gnew  with  hunger  the  lean 
members  of  the  Normandy  chicken,  to  drink  the  clear 


J 


M 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  8l 

cider,  and  to  munch  the  hunk  of  white  bread,  which, 
though  four  days  old,  was  excellent. 

"Suddenly,  the  wooden  barrier  which  opened  on 
to  the  highway  was  opened,  and  a  strange  person 
directed  her  steps  toward  the  house.  She  was  very 
slender,  very  tall,  enveloped  in  a  Scotch  shav^i  with 
red  borders.  You  would  have  believed  that  she  had 
no  arms,  if  you  had  not  seen  a  long  hand  appear  just 
above  the  hips,  holding  a  white  tourist  umbrella. 
The  face  of  a  mummy,  surrounded  with  sausage  rolls 
of  plaited  gray  hair,  which  bounded  at  every  step  she 
took,  made  me  think,  I  know  not  why,  of  a  sour 
herring  adorned  with  curling  papers.  Lowering  her 
eyes,  she  passed  quickly  in  front  of  mc,  and  entered 
the  house. 

"This  smgular  apparition  made  me  curious.  She 
undoubtedly  was  my  neighbor,  the  aged  English  lady 
of  whom  our  hostess  had  spoken. 

"  I  did  not  see  her  again  that  day.  The  next 
day,  when  1  had  begun  to  paint  at  the  end  of  that 
beautiful  valley,  which  you  know  extends  as  far  as 
Etretat,  lifting  my  eyes  suddenly,  I  perceived  some- 
thing singularly  attired  standing  on  the  crest  of  the 
declivity;  it  looked  like  a  pole  decked  out  with  flags. 
It  was  she.  On  seeing  mc,  she  suddenly  disappeared. 
1  re-entered  the  house  at  midday  for  lunch,  and  took 
my  seat  at  the  common  table,  so  as  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  this  old  and  original  creature.  But  she 
did  not  respond  to  my  polite  advances,  was  insensi- 
ble even  to  my  little  attentions.  I  poured  water  out 
for  her  with  great  alacrity,  I  passed  her  the  dishes 
with  great  eagerness.  A  slight,  almost  imperceptible 
movement  of  the  head,   and   an    English  word,   mur- 

Maup.  i — 6 


82  MliS    HARRIET 

mured  so  low  that  I  did   not  understand  it,  were  her 
only  acknowledgments. 

"I  ceased  occupying  myself  with  her,  although 
she  had  disturbed  my  thoughts.  At  the  end  of  three 
days,  1  knew  as  much  about  her  as  did  Madame 
Lecacheur  herself. 

"She  was  called  Miss  Harriet.  Seeking  out  a  se- 
cluded village  in  which  to  pass  the  summer,  she  had 
been  attracted  to  Benouville,  some  six  months  before, 
and  did  not  seem  disposed  to  quit  it.  She  never 
spoke  at  table,  ate  rapidly,  reading  all  the  while  a 
small  book,  treating  of  some  Protestant  propaganda. 
She  gave  a  copy  of  it  to  everybody.  The  cure  him- 
self had  received  no  less  than  four  copies,  at  the  hands 
of  an  urchin  to  whom  she  had  paid  two  sous'  com- 
mission. She  said  sometimes  to  our  hostess,  abruptl}'', 
without  preparing  her  in  the  least  for  the  declaration: 

"  '1  love  the  Saviour  more  than  all;  I  worship  him 
in  all  creation;  I  adore  him  in  all  nature;  I  carry  him 
always  in  my  heart.' 

"And  she  would  immediately  present  the  old 
woman  with  one  of  her  brochures  which  weie  des- 
tined to  convert  the  universe. 

"In  the  village  she  was  not  liked.  In  fact,  the 
schoolmaster  had  declared  that  she  was  an  atheist, 
and  that  a  sort  of  reproach  attached  to  her.  The 
cure,  who  had -been  consulted  by  Madame  Lecacheur, 
responded: 

"'She  is  a  heretic,  but  God  does  not  wish  the 
death  of  the  sinner,  and  1  believe  her  to  be  a  person 
of  pure  morals.' 

"These  words,  'atheist,'  'heretic,'  words  which  no 
one    can    precisely   define,    threw   doubts    into    some 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  S^ 

minds.  It  was  asserted,  however,  that  this  English- 
woman was  rich,  and  that  she  had  passed  her  hfe  in 
travehng  through  every  country  in  the  world,  because 
her  family  had  thrown  her  off.  Why  had  her  family 
thrown  her  off?     Because  of  her  natural  impiety.? 

"She  was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  people  of  exalted 
principles,  one  of  those  opinionated  puritans  of  whom 
England  produces  so  many,  one  of  those  t-oci  and 
insupportable  old  women  who  haunt  the  fal>/cs  d'hote 
of  every  hotel  in  Europe,  who  spoil  Italy,  poison 
Switzerland,  render  the  charming  cities  of  the  Med- 
iterranean uninhabitable,  carry  everywhere  their  fan- 
tastic manias,  their  petrified  vestal  manners,  their 
indescribable  toilettes,  and  a  certain  odor  of  india- 
rubber,  which  makes  one  believe  that  at  night  they 
slip  themselves  into  a  case  of  that  material.  When  I 
meet  one  of  these  people  in  a  hotel,  I  act  like  birds 
which  see  a  manikin  in  a  field. 

"This  woman,  however,  appeared  so  singular  that 
she  did  not  displease  me. 

"Madame  Lecacheur,  hostile  by  instinct  to  every- 
thing that  was  not  rustic,  felt  in  her  narrow  soul  a 
kind  of  hatred  for  the  ecstatic  extravagances  of  the 
old  girl.  She  had  found  a  phrase  by  which  to 
describe  her,  I  know  not  how,  but  a  phrase  assuredly 
contemptuous,  which  had  sprung  to  her  lips,  invented 
probably  by  some  confused  and  mysterious  travail  of 
soul.  She  said:  'That  woman  is  a  demoniac'  This 
phrase,  as  uttered  by  that  austere  and  sentimental 
creature,  seemed  to  me  irresistibly  comic.  I,  myself, 
never  called  her  now  anything  else  but  'the  demo- 
niac' feeling  a  singular  pleasure  in  pronouncing  this 
word  on  seeing  her. 


84  MISS   HARRIET 

"I  would  ask  Mother  Lecacheur:  'Well,  what  is 
our  demoniac  about  to-day?'  To  which  my  rustic 
friend  would  respond,  with  an  air  of  having  been 
scandaHzed: 

'''What  do  you  think,  sir?  She  has  picked  up  a 
toad  which  has  had  its  leg  battered,  and  carried  it  to 
her  room,  and  has  put  it  in  her  washstand,  and 
dressed  it  up  like  a  man.  If  that  is  not  profanation, 
I  should  lik.'  to  know  what  is!' 

"On  another  occasion,  when  walking  along  the 
Falaise,  she  had  bought  a  large  fish  which  had  just  been 
caught,  simply  to  throw  it  back  into  the  sea  again. 
The  sailor,  from  whom  she  had  bought  it,  though 
paid  handsomely,  was  greatly  provoked  at  this  act — ■ 
more  exasperated,  indeed,  than  if  she  had  put  her 
hand  into  his  pocket  and  taken  his  money.  For  a 
whole  month  he  could  not  speak  of  the  circumstance 
without  getting  into  a  fury  and  denouncing  it  as  an 
outrage.  Oh  yes!  She  was  indeed  a  demoniac,  this 
Miss  Harriet,  and  Mother  Lecacheur  must  have  had 
an  inspiration  of  genius  in  thus  christening  her. 

"The  stable-boy,  who  was  called  Sapeur,  because 
he  had  served  in  Africa  in  his  youth,  entertained 
other  aversions.  He  said,  with  a  roguish  air:  'She 
is  an  old  hag  who  has  hved  her  days.'  If  the  poor 
woman  had  but  known! 

"Little  kind-hearted  Celeste  did  not  wait  upon  her 
willingly,  but  I  was  never  able  to  understand  why. 
Probably  her  only  reason  was  that  she  was  a  stranger, 
of  another  race,  of  a  different  tongue,  and  of  another 
religion.     She  was  in  good  truth  a  demoniac! 

"She  passed  her  time  wandering  about  the  coun- 
try, adoring   and    searching    for    God    in    nature.     I 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT  85 

found  her  one  evening  on  her  knees  in  a  cluster  of 
bushes.  Having  discovered  something  red  through 
the  leaves,  I  brushed  aside  the  branches,  and  Miss 
Harriet  at  once  rose  to  her  feet,  confused  at  having 
been  found  thus,  looking  at  me  with  eyes  as  terrible 
as  those  of  a  wild  cat  surprised  in  open  day. 

"Sometimes,  when  I  was  working  among  the 
rocks.  .1  would  suddenly  descry  her  on  the  banks  of 
the  Falaise  standing  like  a  semaphore  signal.  She 
gazed  passionately  at  the  vast  sea,  glittering  in  the 
sunlight,  and  the  boundless  sky  empurpled  with  fire. 
Sometimes  I  would  distinguish  her  at  the  bottom  of 
a  valley,  walking  quickly,  with  her  elastic  English 
step;  and  I  would  go  toward  her,  attracted  by  I 
know  not  what,  simply  to  see  her  illuminated  visage, 
her  dried-up  features,  which  seemed  to  glow  with  an 
ineffable,  inward,  and  profound  happiness. 

"Often  I  would  encounter  her  in  the  corner  of  d 
field  sitting  on  the  grass,  under  the  shadow  of  an 
apple-tree,  with  her  little  Bible  lying  open  on  her  knee, 
while  she  looked  meditatively  into  the  distance. 

"I  could  no  longer  tear  myself  away  from  that 
quiet  country  neighborhood,  bound  to  it  as  I  was  by 
a  thousand  links  of  love  for  its  soft  and  sweeping 
landscapes.  At  this  farm  I  was  out  of  the  world,  far 
removed  from  everything,  but  in  close  proximity  to 
the  soil,  the  good,  healthy,  beautiful  green  soil. 
And,  must  1  avow  it,  there  was  something  besides 
curiosity  which  retained  me  at  the  residence  of 
Mother  Lecachcur.  1  wished  to  become  acquainted 
a  little  with  this  strange  Miss  Harriet,  and  to  learn 
what  passes  in  the  solitary  souls  of  those  wandering 
old,  English  dames. 


86  MISS   HARRIET 


11. 


"We  became  acquainted  in  a  rather  singular  man- 
ner. I  had  just  finished  a  study  which  appeared  to 
me  to  disphiy  genius  and  power;  as  it  must  have, 
since  it  was  sold  for  ten  thousand  francs,  fifteen 
years  later.  It  was  as  simple,  however,  as  that  tv/o 
and  two  make  four,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with 
academic  rules.  The  whole  of  the  right  side  of  my 
canvas  represented  a  rock,  an  enormous  rock,  cov- 
ered with  sea-wrack,  brown,  yellow,  and  red,  across 
which  the  sun  poured  like  a  stream  of  oil.  The 
light,  without  which  one  could  see  the  stars  con- 
cealed in  the  background,  fell  upon  the  stone,  and 
gilded  it  as  if  with  fire.  That  was  all.  A  first  stupid 
attempt  at  dealing  with  light,  with  burning  rays, 
with  the  sublime. 

"On  the  left  was  the  sea,  not  the  blue  sea,  the 
slate-colored  sea,  but  a  sea  of  jade,  as  greenish, 
milky,  and  thick  as  the  overcast  sky. 

"I  was  so  pleased  with  my  work  that  I  danced 
from  sheer  delight  as  I  carried  it  back  to  the  inn.  1 
wished  that  the  whole  world  could  have  seen  it  at 
one  and  the  same  moment.  I  can  remember  that  I 
showed  it  to  a  cow,  which  was  browsing  by  the 
wayside,  exclaiming,  at  the  same  time:  'Look  at 
that,  my  old  beauty;  you  will  not  often  see  its  like 
again.' 

"When  I  had  reached  the  front  of  the  house,  I 
immediately  called  out  to  Mother  Lecacheur,  shouting 
with  all  my  might: 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  87 

'"Ohe!  Ohe!  my  mistress,  come  here  and  look  at 
this.' 

"The  rustic  advanced  and  looked  at  my  work 
with  stupid  eyes,  which  distinguished  nothing,  and 
did  not  even  recognize  whether  the  picture  was  the 
reprc'sentation  of  an  ox  or  a  house. 

"Miss  Harriet  came  into  the  house,  and  passed  in 
rear  of  me  just  at  the  moment  when,  holding  out  my 
canvas  at  arm's  length,  I  was  exhibiting  it  to  the 
female  innkeeper.  The  'demoniac*  could  not  help 
but  see  it,  for  I  took  care  to  exhibit  the  thing  in  such 
a  way  that  it  could  not  escape  her  notice.  She 
stopped  abruptly  and  stood  motionless,  stupefied.  It 
was  her  rock  which  was  depicted,  the  one  which  she 
usually  climbed  to  dream  away  her  time  undisturbed. 

"She  uttered  a  British  'Oh,'  which  was  at  once 
so  accentuated  and  so  flattering,  that  I  turned  round 
to  her,  smiling,  and  said: 

"'This  is  my  last  work.  Mademoiselle.' 

"She  murmured  ecstatically,  comically,  and  ten- 
derly : 

'"Oh!  Monsieur,  you  must  understand  what  it  is 
to  have  a  palpitation.' 

"I  colored  up,  of  course,  and  was  more  excited 
by  that  compliment  than  if  it  had  come  from  a  queen. 
I  was  seduced,  conquered,  vanquished.  1  could  have 
embraced  her  —  upon  my  honor. 

"I  took  my  seat  at  the  table  beside  her,  as  I  had 
always  done.  For  the  first  time,  she  spoke,  drawling 
out  in  a  loud  voice:, 

"'Oh!  1  love   nature  so  much.' 

"I  offered  her  some  bread,  some  water,  some 
wine.     She  now  accepted  these  with  the  vacant  smile 


88  MISS   HARRIET 

of  a  mummy.  I  then  began  to  converse  with  her 
about  the  scenery. 

"After  the  meal,  we  rose  from  the  table  together 
and  walked  leisurely  across  the  court;  then,  attracted 
by  the  fiery  glow  which  the  setting  sun  cast  over  the 
surface  of  the  sea,  I  opened  the  outside  gate  which 
faced  in  the  direction  of  the  Falaise,  and  we  walked 
on  side  by  side,  as  satisfied  as  any  two  persons  could 
be  who  have  just  learned  to  understand  and  penetrate 
each  other's  motives  and  feelings. 

"It  was  a  misty,  relaxing  evening,  one  of  those 
enjoyable  evenings  which  impart  happiness  to  mind 
and  body  alike.  All  is  joy,  all  is  charm.  The  lus- 
cious and  balmy  air,  loaded  with  the  perfumes  of 
herbs,  with  the  perfumes  of  grass-wrack,  with  the  odor 
of  the  wild  flowers,  caresses  the  soul  with  a  pene- 
trating sweetness.  We  were  going  to  the  brink  of 
the  abyss  which  overlooked  the  vast  sea  and  rolled 
past  us  at  the  distance  of  less  than  a  hundred  meters. 

"We  drank  with  open  mouth  and  expanded  chest, 
that  fresh  breeze  from  the  ocean  which  glides  slowly 
over  the  skin,  salted  as  it  is  by  long  contact  with 
the  waves. 

"Wrapped  up  in  her  square  shawl,  inspired  by 
the  balmy  air  and  with  teeth  firmly  set,  the  English- 
woman gazed  fixedly  at  the  great  sun-ball,  as  it  de- 
scended toward  the  sea.  Soon  its  rim  touched  the 
waters,  just  in  rear  of  a  ship  which  had  appeared 
on  the  horizon,  until,  by  degrees,  it  was  swallowed 
up  by  the  ocean.  We  watched  it  plunge,  diminish, 
and  finally  disappear. 

"Miss  Harriet  contemplated  with  passionate  re- 
gard   he  last  glimmer  of  the  flaming  orb  of  day. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  89 

"She  muttered:  'Oh!  I  love  —  I  love — '  I  saw 
a  tear  start  in  her  eye.  She  continued:  *I  wish  I 
were  a  little  bird,  so  that  I  could  mount  up  into  the 
firmament.' 

"She  remained  standing  as  I  ha^' often  before  seen 
her,  perched  on  the  river  bank,  her  face  as  red  as 
her  flaming  shawl.  I  should  have  liked  to  have 
sketched  her  in  my  album.  It  would  have  been  an 
ecstatic  caricature.  I  turned  my  face  away  from  her 
so  as  to  be  able  to  laugh. 

"I  then  spoke  to  her  of  painting,  as  I  would  have 
done  to  a  fellow-artist,  using  the  technical  terms 
common  among  the  devotees  of  the  profession.  She 
listened  attentively  to  me,  eagerly  seeking  to  divine 
the  sense  of  the  obscure  words,  so  as  to  penetrate 
my  thoughts.  From  time  to  time,  she  would  ex- 
claim: 'Oh!  I  understand,  1  understand.  This  is  very 
interesting.'     We  returned  home. 

"The  next  day,  on  seeing  me,  she  approached  me 
eagerly,  holding  out  her  hand;  and  we  became  firm 
friends  immediately. 

"She  was  a  brave  creature,  with  an  elastic  sort  of 
a  soul,  which  became  enthusiastic  at  a  bound.  She 
lacked  equilibrium,  like  all  women  who  are  spinsters 
at  the  age  of  fifty.  She  seemed  to  be  pickled  in  vin- 
egary innocence,  though  her  heart  still  retained  some- 
thing of  youth  and  of  girlish  effervescence.  She 
loved  both  nature  and  animals  with  a  fervent  ardor,  a 
love  like  old  wine,  mellow  through  age,  with  a  sen- 
sual love  that  she  had  never  bestowed  on  men. 

"One  thing  is  certain:  a  mare  roaming  in  a 
meadow  with  a  foal  at  its  side,  a  bird's  nest  full  of 
young  ones,  squeaking,  with   their   open  mouths  and 


qo  MISS   HARRIET 

enormous  heads,  made  her  quiver  with  the  mo^t  vio- 
lent emotion. 

"Poor  solitary  beings!  Sad  wanderers  from  tabl^ 
d'hote  to  table  d'hote,  poor  beings,  ridiculous  and 
lamentable,  I  love  you  ever  since  I  became  acquainted 
with  Miss  Harriet! 

"I  soon  discovered  that  she  had  something  she 
would  like  to  tell  me,  but  dared  not,  and  I  was 
amused  at  her  timidity.  When  I  started  out  in  the 
mornmg  with  my  box  on  my  back,  she  would  ac- 
company me  as  far  as  the  end  of  the  village,  silent, 
but  evidently  struggling  inwardly  to  find  words  with 
which  to  begin  a  conversation.  Then  she  would 
leave  me  abruptly,  -and,  with  jaunty  step,  walk  away 
quickly. 

"One  day,  however,  she  plucked  up  courage: 

"'I  would  like  to  see  how  you  paint  pictures? 
Will  you  shov/  meP     I  have  been  very  curious.' 

"And  she  colored  up  as  though  she  had  given 
utterance  to  words  extremely  audacious. 

"I  conducted  her  to  the  bottom  of  the  Petit- Val, 
where  I  had  commenced  a  large  picture. 

"She  remained  standing  near  me,  following  all 
my  gestures  with  concentrated  attention.  Then,  sud- 
denly, fearing,  perhaps,  that  she  was  disturbing  me, 
she  said  to  me:     *  Thank  you,'  and  walked  away. 

"But  in  a  short  time  she  became  more  familiar, 
and  accompanied  me  every  day,  her  countenance  ex- 
hibiting visible  pleasure.  She  carried  her  folding  stool 
under  her  arm,  would  not  consent  to  my  carrying  it, 
and  she  sat  always  by  my  side.  She  would  remain 
there  for  hours  immovable  and  mute,  following  with 
her  eye   the   point   of  my  brush    in    its   every  move- 


WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT  qi 

ment.  When  I  would  obtain,  by  a  large  splatch  of 
color  spread  on  with  a  knife,  a  striking  and  unex- 
pected effect,  she  would,  in  spite  of  herself,  give 
vent  to  a  half-suppressed  'Oh!'  of  astonishment,  of 
joy,  of  admiration.  She  had  the  most  tender  respect 
for  my  canvases,  an  almost  religious  respect  for  that 
human  reproduction  of  a  part  of  nature's  work  divine. 
My  studies  appeared  to  her  to  be  pictures  of  sanctity, 
and  sometimes  she  spoke  to  me  of  God,  with  the 
idea  of  converting  me. 

"Ohl  He  was  a  queer  good-natured  being,  this 
God  of  hers.  He  was  a  sort  of  village  philosopher 
without  any  great  resources,  and  without  great  power; 
for  she  always  llgured  him  to  herself  as  a  being 
quivering  over  injustices  committed  under  his  eyes, 
and  helpless  to  prevent  them. 

"She  was,  however,  on  excellent  terms  with  him, 
affecting  even  to  be  the  confidant  of  his  secrets  and 
of  his  whims.     She  said: 

"'God  wills,  or  God  does  not  will,'  just  like  a 
sergeant  announcing  to  a  recruit:  'The  colonel  has 
commanded.* 

"At  the  bottom  of  her  heart  she  deplored  my 
ignorance  of  the  intentions  of  the  Eternal,  which  she 
strove,  nay,  felt  herself  compelled,  to   impart  to   me. 

"Almost  every  day,  I  found  in  my  pockets,  in  my 
hat  when  I  lifted  it  from  the  ground,  in  my  box  of 
colors,  in  my  polished  shoes,  standing  in  the  morn- 
ings in  front  of  my  door,  those  little  pious  brochures, 
which  she,  no  doubt,  received  directly  from  Para- 
dise. 

"I  treated  her  as  one  would  an  old  friend,  with 
unaffected  cordiality.     But  I  soon   perceived   that  she 


92  MISS   HARRIET 

had  changed  somewhat  in  her  manner;  but,  for  a 
while,  I  paid  little  attention  to  it. 

"When  I  walked  about,  whether  to  the  bottom 
of  the  valley,  or  through  some  country  lanes,  I  would 
see  her  suddenly  appear,  as  though  she  were  return- 
ing from  a  rapid  walk.  She  would  then  sit  down 
abruptly,  out  of  breath,  as  though  she  had  been 
running  or  overcome  by  some  profound  emotion. 
Her  face  would  be  red,  that  English  red  which  is 
denied  to  the  people  of  all  other  countries;  then, 
without  any  reason,  she  would  grow  pale,  become 
the  color  of  the  ground,  and  seem  ready  to  faint 
away.  Gradually,  however,  I  would  see  her  regain 
her  ordinary  color,  whereupon  she  would  begin  to 
speak. 

"Then,  without  warning,  she  would  break  off  in 
the  middle  of  a  sentence,  spring  up  from  her  seat, 
and  march  off  so  rapidly  and  so  strangely,  that  it 
would,  sometimes,  put  me  to  my  wits'  end  to  try 
and  discover  whether  I  had  done  or  said  anything  to 
displease  or  offend  her. 

"I  finally  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  arose 
from  her  early  habits  and  training,  somewhat  modi- 
fied, no  doubt,  in  honor  of  me,  since  the  first  days 
of  our  acquaintanceship. 

"When  she  returned  to  the  farm,  after  walking 
for  hours  on  the  wind-beaten  coast,  her  long  curled 
hair  would  be  shaken  out  and  hanging  loose,  as 
though  it  had  broken  away  from  its  bearings.  It  was 
seldom  that  this  gave  her  any  concern;  though  some- 
times she  looked  as  though  she  had  been  dining  sans 
cerimonie;  her  locks  having  become  disheveled  by 
the  breezes.  • 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  95 

"She  would  then  go  up  to  her  room  in  order  to 
adjust  what  I  called  her  glass  lamps.  When  I  would 
say  to  her,  in  familiar  gallantry,  which,  however, 
always  offended  her: 

"'You  are  as  beautiful  as  a  planet  to-day,  Miss 
Harriet,'  a  little  blood  would  immediately  mount  into 
her  cheeks,  the  blood  of  a  young  maiden,  the  blood 
of  sweet  fifteen. 

"Then  she  would  become  abruptly  savage  and 
cease  coming  to  watch  me  paint.  But  I  always 
thought: 

"'This  is  only  a  fit  of  temper  she  is  passing 
through.' 

"  But  it  did  not  always  pass  away.  When  I  spoke 
to  her  sometimes,  she  would  answer  me,  either  with 
an  air  of  affected  indifference,  or  in  sullen  anger;  and 
she  became  by  turns  rude,  impatient,  and  nervous. 
For  a  time  1  never  saw  her  except  at  meals,  and  we 
spoke  but  little.  I  concluded,  at  length,  that  I  must 
have  offended  her  in  something:  and,  accordingly,  I 
said  to  her  one  evening: 

"'Miss  Harriet,  why  is  it  that  you  do  not  act 
toward  me  as  formerly  ?  What  have  I  done  to  dis- 
please you.^     You  are  causing  me  much  pain!' 

"She  responded,  in  an    angry   tone,  in    a    manner 
altogether  sui  generis: 

"'1  am  always  with  you  the  same  as  formerly. 
It  is  not  trwe,  not  true,'  and  she  ran  upstairs  and 
shut  herself  up  in  her  room. 

"At  times  she  would  look  upon  me  with  strange 
eyes.  Since  that  time  I  have  often  said  to  myself 
that  those  condemned  to  death  must  look  thus  when 
informed   that  their   last   day   has   come.     In  her  eye 


94  MISS   HARRIET 

there  lurked  a  species  of  folly,  a  folly  at  once  mys- 
terious and  violent  —  even  more,  a  fever,  an  exasper- 
ated desire,  impatient,  at  once  incapable  of  being 
realized  and  unrealizable! 

"Nay,  it  seemed  to  me  that  there  was  also  going 
on  within  her  a  combat,  in  which  her  heart  struggled 
against  an  unknown  force  that  she  wished  to  over- 
come—  perhaps,  even,  something  else.  But  what 
could  I  know  ?    What  could  I  know  ? 


III. 


"This  was  indeed  a  singular  revelation. 

"For  some  time  I  had  commenced  to  work,  as 
,  soon  as  daylight  appeared,  on  a  picture,  the  subject 
of  which  was  as  follows: 

"A  deep  ravine,  steep  banks  dominated  by  two 
declivities,  lined  with  brambles  and  long  rows  of 
trees,  hidden,  drowned  in  milky  vapor,  clad  in  that 
misty  robe  which  sometimes  floats  over  valleys  at 
break  of  day.  At  the  extreme  end  of  that  thick  and 
transparent  fog,  you  see  coming,  or  rather  already 
come,  a  human  couple,  a  stripling  and  a  maiden 
embraced,  interlaced,  she,  with  head  leaning  on  him, 
he,  inclined  toward  her,  and  lip  to  lip. 

'•A  ray  of  the  sun,  glistening  through  the  branches, 
has  traversed  the  fog  of  dawn  and  illuminated  it  with 
a  rosy  reflection^  just  behind  the  rustic  lovers,  whose 
vague  shadows  are  reflected  on  it  in  clear  silvei.  It 
was  well  done,  yes,  indeed,  well  done. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    Dli   MAUPASSANT  9=^ 

*'I  was  working  on  the  declivity  which  led  to  the 
Val  d'Etretat.  This  particular  morning,  I  had,  by 
chance,  the  sort  of  floating  vapor  which  was  neces- 
sary for  my  purpose.  Suddenly,  an  object  appeared 
in  front  of  me,  a  kind  of  phantom;  it  was  Miss  Har- 
riet. On  seeing  me,  she  took  to  flight.  But  I  called 
after  her  saying:  'Come  here,  come  here,  Mademoi- 
selle, I  have  a  nice  little  picture  for  you." 

"She  came  forward,  though  with  seemmg  reluc- 
tance. I  handed  her  my  sketch.  She  said  nothing, 
but  stood  for  a  long  time  motionless,  looking  at  it. 
Suddenly  she  burst  into  tears.  She  wept  spasmodic- 
ally, like  men  who  have  been  struggling  hard  against 
shedding  tears,  but  who  can  do  so  no  longer,  and 
abandon  themselves  to  grief,  though  unwillingly.  I 
got  up,  trembling,  moved  myself  by  the  sight  of  a 
sorrow  I  did  not  comprehend,  and  I  took  her  by  the 
hand  with  a  gesture  of  brusque  affection,  a  true 
French  impulse  which  impels  one  quicker  than  one 
thinks. 

"She  let  her  hands  rest  in  mine  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  I  felt  them  quiver,  as  if  her  whole  nervous  sys- 
tem was  twisting  and  turning.  Then  she  withdrew 
her  hands  abruptly,  or,  rather,  tore  them  out  of  mine. 

"I  recognized  that  shiver  as  soon  as  I  had  felt  it; 
I  was  deceived  in  nothing.  Ah!  the  love  shudder  of 
a  woman,  whether  she  is  fifteen  or  fifty  years  of  age. 
whether  she  is  one  of  the  people  or  one  of  the 
monde,  goes  so  straight  to  my  heart  that  I  never  had 
any  difficulty  in  understanding  it! 

"Her  whole  frail  being  trembled,  vibrated.,  yielded. 
I  knew  it.  She  walked  away  before  I  had  time  to 
say  a  word,  leaving  me  as  surprised  as  if  I  had  wit- 


96 


MIGS  HARRIET 


nessed  a  miracle,  and  as  troubled  as  if  I  had  com- 
mitted a  crime. 

"I  did  not  go  in  to  breakfast.  I  took  a  walk  on 
the  banks  of  the  Falaise,  feeling  that  I  could  just  as 
soon  weep  as  laugh,  looking  on  the  adventure  as 
both  comic  and  deplorable,  and  my  position  as  ridic- 
ulous, fain  to  believe  that  I  had  lost  my  head. 

"I  asked  myself  what  I  ought  to  do.  I  debated 
whether  1  ought  not  to  take  my  leave  of  the  place 
and  almost  immediately  my  resolution  was  formed. 

"Somewhat  sad  and  perplexed,  I  wandered  about 
until  dinner  time,  and  entered  the  farmhouse  just  when 
the  soup  had  been  served  up. 

"I  sat  down  at  the  table,  as  usual.  Miss  Harriet 
was  there,  munching  away  solemnly,  without  speak- 
ing to  anyone,  without  even  lifting  her  eyes.  She 
wore,  however,  her  usual  expression,  both  of  counte- 
nance and  manner. 

"1  waited,  patiently,  till  the  meal  had  been  fin- 
ished. Then,  turning  toward  the  landlady,  I  saidi 
'Madame  Lecacheur,  it  will  not  be  long  now  before  I 
shall  have  to  take  my  leave  of  you.' 

"The  good  woman,  at  once  surprised  and  troubled, 
replied  in  a  quivering  voice:  'My  dear  sir,  what  is 
it  I  have  just  heard  you  say?  Are  you  going  to 
leave  us,  after  I  have  become  so  much  accustomed  to 
you?' 

"I  looked  at  Miss  Harriet  from  the  corner  of  my 
eye.  Her  countenance  did  not  change  in  the  least; 
but  the  under-servant  came  toward  me  with  eyes 
wide  open.  She  was  a  fat  girl,  of  about  eighteen 
years  of  age,  rosy,  fresh,  strong  as  a  horse,  yet  pos- 
sessing a  rare  attribute  in  one  in  her  position — she 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  97 

was  very  neat  and  clean.  I  had  kissed  her  at  odd 
times,  in  out  of  the  way  corners,  in  the  manner  of  a 
mountain  guide,  nothing  more. 

"The  dinner  being  over,  I  went  to  smoke  my 
pipe  under  the  apple-trees,  walking  up  and  down  at 
my  ease,  from  one  end  of  the  court  to  the  other. 
All  the  reflections  which  I  had  made  during  the  day, 
the  strange  discovery  of  the  morning,  that  grotesque 
and  passionate  attachment  for  me,  the  recollections 
which  that  revelation  had  suddenly  called  up,  recol- 
lections at  once  charming  and  perplexing,  perhaps, 
also,  that  look  which  the  servant  had  cast  on  me  at 
the  announcement  of  mv  departure  —  all  these  things, 
mixed  up  and  combined,  put  me  now  in  an  excited 
bodily  state,  with  the  tickling  sensation  of  kisses 
on  my  lips,  and  in  my  veins  something  which  urged 
me  on  to  commit  some  folly. 

"Night  having  come  on,  casting  its  dark  shadows 
under  the  trees,  1  descried  Celeste,  who  had  gone  to 
shut  the  hen-coops,  at  the  other  end  of  the  inclosure. 
I  darted  toward  her,  running  so  noiselessly  that  she 
heard  nothing,  and  as  she  got  up  from  closing  the 
small  faps  by  which  the  chickens  went  in  and  out,  I 
clasped  her  in  my  arms  and  rained  on  her  coarse,  fat 
face  a  shower  of  kisses.  She  made  a  struggle,  laugh- 
ing all  the  same,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  do  in 
such  circumstances.  What  made  me  suddenly  loose 
my  grip  of  her?  Why  did  I  at  once  experience  a 
shock?    What  was  it  that  1  heard  behind  me? 

"  It  was  Miss  Harriet  who  had  come  upon  us, 
who  had  seen  us,  and  who  stood  in  front  of  us,  as 
motionless  as  a  specter.  Then  she  disappeared  in  the 
darkness. 

Maup.  1—7 


Oti>  MISS   HARRIET 


y 


"\  was  ashamed,  embarrassed,  more  annoyed  at 
having  been  surprised  by  her  than  if  she  had  caught 
me  committing  some  criminal  act. 

'1  slept  badly  that  night;  I  was  worried  and 
haunted  by  sad  thoughts.  I  seemed  to  hear  loud 
weeping;  but  in  this  I  was  no  doubt  deceived.  More- 
over, I  thought  several  times  that  I  heard  some  one 
walking  up  and  down  in  the  house,  and  that  some 
one  opened  my  door  from  the  outside. 

"Toward  morning,  I  was  overcome  by  fatigue, 
and  sleep  seized  on  me.  I  got  up  late  and  did  not 
go  downstairs  until  breakfast  time,  being  still  in  a 
bewildered  state,  not  knowing  what  kind  of  face  to 
put  on. 

"No  one  had  seen  Miss  Harriet.  We  waited  for 
her  at  table,  but  she  did  not  appear.  At  length, 
Mother  Lecacheur  went  to  her  room.  The  English- 
woman had  gone  out.  She  must  have  set  out  at 
break  of  day,  as  she  was  wont  to  do,  in  order  to  see 
the  sun  rise. 

"Nobody  seemed  astonished  at  this  and  we  began 
to  eat  in  silence. 

"The  weather  was  hot,  very  hot,  one  of  those 
still  sultry  days  when  not  a  leaf  stirs.  The  table 
had  been  placed  out  of  doors,  under  an  apple-tree; 
and  from  time  to  time  Sapeur  had  gone  to  the  cellar 
to  draw  a  jug  of  cider,  everybody  was  so  thirsty. 
Celeste  brought  the  dishes  from  the  kitchen,  a  ragout 
of  mutton  with  potatoes,  a  cold  rabbit,  and  a  salad. 
Afterward  she  placed  before  us  a  dish  of  strav/berries, 
the  first  of  the  season. 

"As  I  wanted  to  wash  and  freshen  these,  I  begged 
the  servant   to  go  and  bring  a  pitcher   of  cold  water. 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  99 

"In  about  five  minutes  she  returned,  declaring  that 
the  well  was  dry.  She  had  lowered  the  pitcher  to 
the  full  extent  of  the  cord,  and  had  touched  the  bot- 
tom, but  on  drawing  the  pitcher  up  again,  it  was 
empty.  Mother  Lecacheur,  anxious  to  examine  the 
thing  for  herself,  went  and  looked  down  the  hole. 
She  returned  announcing  that  one  could  see  clearly 
something  in  the  well,  something  altogether  unusual. 
But  this,  no  doubt,  was  pottles  of  straw,  which,  out 
of  spite,  had  been  cast  down  it  by  a  neighbor. 

"I  v/ished  also  to  look  down  the  well,  hoping  to 
clear  up  the  mystery,  and  perched  myself  close  to  its 
brink.  I  perceived,  indistinctly,  a  white  object. 
What  could  it  be  ?  I  then  conceived  the  idea  of  low- 
ering a  lantern  at  the  end  of  a  cord.  When  I  did  so, 
the  yellow  flame  danced  on  the  layers  of  stone 
and  gradually  became  clearer.  All  four  of  us  were 
leaning  over  the  opening,  Sapeur  and  Celeste  having 
now  joined  us.  The  lantern  rested  on  a  black  and 
white,  indistinct  mass,  singular,  incomprehensible, 
Sapeur  exclaimed: 

"'It  is  a  horse.  I  see  the  hoofs.  It  must  have 
escaped  from  the  meadow,  during  the  night,  and 
fallen  in  headlong.' 

"But,  suddenly,  a  cold  shiver  attacked  my  spine, 
I  first  recognized  a  foot,  then  a  clothed  limb;  the 
body  was  entire,  but  the  other  limb  had  disappeared 
under  the  water. 

"I  groaned  and  trembled  so  violently  that  the 
light  of  the  lamp  danced  hither  and  thither  over  the 
object,  discovering  a  slipper. 

"'It  is  a  woman!  who  —  who  —  can  it  be?  It  is 
Miss  Harriet.' 


iOO  MISS   HARRIET 

"Sapeur  alone  did  not  manifest  horror.  He  had 
witnessed  many  such  scenes  in  Africa. 

"  Mother  Lecacheur  and  Celeste  began  to  scream 
and  to  shriek,  and  ran  away. 

"But  it  was  necessary  to  recover  the  corpse  of 
the  dead.  1  attached  the  boy  securely  by  the  loins 
to  the  end  of  the  pulley-rope;  then  I  lowered  him 
slowly,  and  watched  him  disappear  in  the  darkness. 
In  the  one  hand  he  had  a  lantern,  and  held  on  to  the 
rope  with  the  other.  Soon  1  recognized  his  voice, 
which  seemed  to  come  from  the  center  of  the  earth, 
crying: 

"'Stop.' 

"I  then  saw  him  fish  something  out  of  the  water. 
It  was  the  other  limb.  He  bound  the  two  feet  to- 
gether, and  shouted  anew: 

"'Haul  up.' 

"I  commenced  to  wind  him  up,  but  I  felt  my 
arms  strain,  my  muscles  twitch,  and  was  in  terror 
lest  I  should  let  the  boy  fall  to  the  bottom.  When 
his  head  appeared  over  the  brink,  1  asked: 

"'What  is  it?'  as  though  1  only  expected  that  he 
would  tell  me  what  he  had  discovered  at  the  bottom. 

"We  both  got  on  to  the  stone  slab  at  the  edge 
of  the  well,  and,  face  to  face,  hoisted  the  body. 

"Mother  Lecacheur  and  Celeste  watched  us  from  a 
distance,  concealed  behind  the  wall  of  the  house. 
When  they  saw,  issuing  from  the  well,  the  black 
shppers  and  white  stockings  of  the  drowned  person, 
they  disappeared. 

"Sapeur  seized  the  ankles  of  the  poor  chaste 
woman,  and  we  drew  it  up,  inclined,  as  it  was,  in 
the   most   immodest    posture.     The    head   was    in    a 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  lOI 

shocking  state,  bruised  and  black;  and  the  long,  gray 
hair,  hanging  down,   was  tangled  and  disordered. 
■     "'In  the   name  of  all   that  is  holy,  how  lean   she 
is!'  exclaimed  Sapeur,  in  a  contemptuous  tone. 

"We  carried  her  into  the  room,  and  as  the 
women  did  not  put  in  an  appearance,  I,  with  the  as- 
sistance of  the  lad,  dressed  the  corpse  for  burial. 

"I  washed  her  disfigured  face.  By  the  touch  of 
my  hand  an  eye  was  slightly  opened;  it  seemed  to 
scan  me  with  that  pale  stare,  with  that  cold,  that 
terrible  look  which  corpses  have,  a  look  which  seems 
to  come  from  the  beyond.  I  plaited  up,  as  well  as  I 
could,  her  disheveled  hair,  and  I  adjusted  on  her 
forehead  a  novel  and  singularly  formed  lock.  Then  I 
took  off  her  dripping  wet  garments,  baring,  not 
without  a  feeling  of  shame,  as  though  I  had  been 
guilty  of  some  profanation,  her  shoulders  and  her 
chest,  and  her  long  arms,  slim  as  the  twigs  of 
branches. 

"I  next  went  to  fetch  some  flowers,  corn  pop- 
pies, blue  beetles,  marguerites,  and  fresh  and  per- 
fumed herbs,  with  which  to  strew  her  funeral  couch. 

"Being  the  only  person  near  her,  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  perform  the  usual  ceremonies.  In  a  letter 
found  in  her  pocket,  written  at  the  last  moment,  she 
asked  that  her  body  be  buried  in  the  village  in  which 
she  had  passed  the  last  days  of  her  life.  A  frightful 
thought  then  oppressed  my  heart.  Was  it  not  on  my 
account  that  she  wished  to  be  laid  at  rest  in  this 
place  ? 

"Toward  the  evening,  all  the  female  gossips  of 
the  locality  came  to  view  the  remains  of  the  defunct; 
but  I  would    not    allow   a    single    person   to   enter;    J 


I02  MISS   HARRIET 

wanted  to  be  alone;  and  I  watched  by  the  corpse  the 
whole  night. 

"By  the  flickering  light  of  the  candles,  I  looked 
at  the  body  of  this  miserable  woman,  wholly  un- 
known, who  had  died  so  lamentably  and  so  far  away 
from  home.  Had  she  left  no  friends,  no  relatives 
behind  her  ?  What  had  her  infancy  been  ?  What  had 
been  her  life?  Whence  had  she  come  thither,  all 
alone,  a  wanderer,  hke  a  dog  driven  from  home.? 
What  secrets  of  suffering  and  of  despair  were  sealed 
up  in  that  disagreeable  body,  in  that  spent  and  with- 
ered hodv.  that  impenetrable  hiding  place  of  a  mystery 
which  had  driven  her  far  away  from  affection  and 
from  love  ? 

"How  many  unhappy  beings  there  are!  I  felt 
that  upon  that  human  creature  weighed  the  eternal 
injustice  of  implacable  nature  !  Life  was  over  with 
her,  without  her  ever  having  experienced,  perhaps,  that 
which  sustains  the  most  miserable  of  us  all  —  to  wit, 
the  hope  of  being  once  loved  !  Otherwise,  why 
should  she  thus  have  concealed  herself,  have  fled  from 
the  face  of  others?  Why  did  she  love  everything  so 
tenderly  and  so  passionately,  everything  living  that 
was  not  a  man  ? 

"I  recognized,  also,  that  she  believed  in  a  God, 
and  that  she  hoped  for  compensation  from  him  for 
the  miseries  she  had  endured.  She  had  now  begun 
to  decompose,  and  to  become,  in  turn,  a  plant.  She 
who  had  blossomed  in  the  sun  was  now  to  be  eaten 
up  by  the  cattle,  carried  away  in  herbs,  and  in  the 
flesh  of  beasts,  again  to  become  human  flesh.  F^ut 
that  which  is  called  the  soul  had  been  extinguished 
at.   the   bottom   of  the   dark    well.    She   suffered   no 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  I05 

longer.     She  had  changed  her   Hfe   foi    that   of  others 
yet  to  be  born, 

"Hours  passed  away  in  this  silent  and  sinister 
communion  with  the  dead.  A  pale  hght  at  length 
announced  the  dawn  of  a  new  day,  and  a  bright  ray 
glistened  on  the  bed,  shedding  a  dash  of  fire  on  the 
bedclothes  and  on  her  hands.  This  was  the  hour 
she  had  so  much  loved,  when  the  waking  birds  be- 
gan to  sing  in  the  trees. 

"I  opened  the  windov/  to  its  fullest  extent,  I  drew 
back  the  curtains,  so  that  the  whole  heavens  might 
look  in  upon  us.  Then  bending  toward  the  glassy 
f.orpse,  I  took  in  my  hands  the  mutilated  head,  and 
slowly,  without  terror  or  disgust,  imprinted  a  long, 
\ong  kiss  upon  those  lips  which  had  never  before 
received  the  salute  of  love. " 

******* 

Leon  Chenal  remained  silent.  The  women  wept. 
We  heard  on  the  box  seat  Count  d'Etraille  blow  his 
nose,  from  time  to  time.  The  coachman  alone  had 
gone  to  sleep.  The  horses,  which  felt  no  longer  the 
sting  of  the  whip,  had  slackened  their  pace  and 
dragged  softly  along.  And  the  four-in-hand,  hardly 
moving  at  all,  became  suddenly  torpid,  as  if  laden 
with  sorrow. 


THE    HOLE 


UTS  AND  WOUNDS  WHICH  CAUSED  DEATH. 

That  was  the  heading  of  the  charge 
which  brought  Leopold  Renard,  up- 
holsterer, before  the  Assize  Court. 
Round   him    were    the    principal 
witnesses,  Madame  Flameche,  widow 
of  the  victim,   Louis    Ladureau,  cabi- 
netmaker, and  Jean  Durdent,  plumber. 

Near    the    criminal    was    his    wife, 
dressed  in   black,  a  little   ugly  woman, 
who  looked  like    a  monkey  dressed  as  a 
lady. 

This  is  how  Renard  described  the  drama: 
"Good  heavens,  it  is  a  misfortune  of  which 
I  am  the  first  and  last  victim,  and  with  which  my  will 
has  nothing  to  do.  The  facts  are  their  own  commen- 
tary, Monsieur  le  President.  I  am  an  honest  man,  a 
hard-working  man,  an  upholsterer  in  the  same  street 
for  the  last  sixteen  years,  known,  liked,  respected,  and 
esteemed  by  all,  as  my  neighbors  have  testified,  even 
the  porter,  who  is  not  foldtre  every  day.  I  am  fond 
of  work,  I  am  fond  of  saving,  I  like  honest  men,  and 
(104) 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  105 

respectable  pleasures.  That  is  what  has  ruined  me, 
so  much  the  worse  for  me;  but  as  my  will  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it,  I  continue  to  respect  m^^self. 

"Every  Sunday  for  the  last  five  years,  my  wife 
and  I  have  spent  the  day  at  Pussy.  We  get  fresh 
air,  not  to  say  that  we  are  fond  of  fishing  —  as  fond 
of  it  as  we  are  of  small  onions.  Melie  inspired  me 
with  that  passion,  the  jade;  she  is  more  enthusiastic 
than  I  am,  the  scold,  and  all  the  mischief  in  this 
business  is  her  fault,  as  you  will  see  immediately. 

"I  am  strong  and  mild-tempered,  without  a 
pennyworth  of  malice  in  me.  But  she  1  oh  !  la  !  la  1 
she  looks  insignificant,  she  is  short  and  thin,  but  she 
does  more  mischief  than  a  weasel.  I  do  not  den}' 
that  she  has  some  good  qualities;  she  has  some,  and 
those  very  important  to  a  man  in  business.  But 
her  character !  Just  ask  about  it  in  the  neighbor- 
hood; even  the  porter's  wife,  who  has  just  '  sent 
me  about  my  business  —  she  will  tell  you  something 
about  it. 

"Every  day  she  used  to  find  fnilt  with  my  mild 
temper:  'I  would  not  put  up  with  this!  1  would 
not  put  up  with  that.'  If  1  had  listened  to  her, 
Monsieur  le  President,  I  should  have  had  at  least 
three  bouts  of  fisticuffs  a  month." 

Madame  Renard  interrupted  him:  "And  for  good 
reasons  too;  they  laugh  best  who  laugh  last." 

He  turned  toward  her  frankly:  "Oh!  very  well, 
I  can  blame  you,  since  you  were  the  cause  of  it." 

Then,  facing  the  President  again  he  said: 

"I  will  continue.  We  used  to  go  to  Passy  every 
Saturday  evening,  so  as  to  be  able  to  begin  fishing 
at  daybreak  the   next   morning.     It   is   a   habit  which 


I06  THE   HOLE 

has  become  reccnd  nature  with  us,  as  the  saying  is, 
Tiiree  3^ears  ago  this  summer  I  discovered  a  place, 
oh  !  such  a  spot !  There,  in  the  shade,  were  eiglit 
feet  of  water  at  least  and  perhaps  ten,  a  hole  with  a 
reiour  under  the  bank,  a  regular  retreat  for  fish  and 
a  paradise  for  any  fisherman.  1  might  look  upon 
that  hole  as  my  property,  Monsieur  le  President,  as  I 
was  its  Christopher  Columbus.  Everybody  in  the 
neighborhood  knew  it,  without  making  any  opposi- 
tion. They  used  to  say:  'That  is  Renard's  place'; 
and  nobody  would  have  gone  to  it,  not  even  Monsieur 
Plumsay,  who  is  renowned,  be  it  said  without  any 
offense,  for  appropriating  other  people's  places. 

"Well,  I  went  as  usual  to  that  place,  of  which  I 
felt  as  certain  as  if  I  had  owned  it.  I  had  scarcely 
got  there  on  Saturday,  when  I  got  into  'Delila,' 
with  my  wife.  'Delila'  is  my  Norwegian  boat, 
which  I  had  built  by  Fourmaise,  and  which  is  light 
and  safe.  Well,  as  I  said,  we  got  into  the  boat  and 
we  were  going  to  bait,  and  for  baiting  there  is  no- 
body to  be  compared  with  me,  and  they  all  know  it. 
You  want  to  know  with  what  I  bait?  1  cannot  an- 
swer that  question;  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
accident;  I  cannot  answer,  that  is  my  secret.  There 
are  more  than  three  hundred  people  who  have  asked 
me;  I  have  been  offered  glasses  of  brandy  and  liquors, 
fried  fish,  matelots,*  to  make  me  tell!  But  just  go 
and  try  whether  the  chub  will  come.  Ah!  they  have 
patted  my  stomach  to  get  at  my  secret,  my  recipe. 
Only  my  wife  knows,  and  she  will  not  tell  it,  any 
more  than  I  shall!     Is  not  that  so,  Melie?" 


*  A  preparation  of  several  kinds  of  fish,  with  a  sharp  sauce. 


WORKS  OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


107 


The  President  of  the  Court  interrupted  him : 

"Just  get  to  the  facts  as  soon    as    you    can." 

The  accused  continued:  "I  am  getting  to  them;  I 
am  getting  to  them.  Weil,  on  Saturday.  July  8,  we  left 
by  the  five  twenty-five  train,  and  before  dinner  we 
went  to  ground-bait  as  usual.  The  weather  promised 
to  keep  fine,  and  I  said  to  Mclie:  'All  right  for  to- 
morrow!' And  she  replied:  'It  looks  like  it.'  We 
never  talk  more  than  that  together. 

"And  then  we  returned  to  dinner.  I  was  happy 
and  thirsty,  and  that  was  the  cause  of  everything. 
I  said  to  Melie:  'Look  here  Melie,  it  is  fine  weather, 
so  suppose  I  drink  a  bottle  of  Casque  a  mcche.  That 
is  a  little  white  wine  which  we  have  christened  so, 
because  if  you  drink  too  much  of  it  it  prevents  you 
from  sleeping  and  is  the  opposite  of  a  nightcap.  Do 
you  understand  me,? 

"She  replied:  'You  can  do  as  you  please,  but  you 
will  be  ill  again,  and  will  not  be  able  to  get  up  to- 
morrow.' That  was  true,  sensible,  prudent,  and  clear- 
sighted, I  must  confess.  Nevertheless,  1  could  not 
withstand  it,  and  I  drank  my  bottle.  It  ?X\  comes 
from  that. 

"Well,  I  could  not  sleep.  By  Jove!  It  kept  me 
awake  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then  I 
went  to  sleep  so  soundly  that  1  should  not  have 
heard  the  angel  shouting  at  the  Last  Judgment. 

"In  short,  my  wife  woke  me  at  six  o'clock  and  I 
jumped  out  of  bed,  hastily  put  on  my  trousers  and 
jersey,  washed  my  face  and  jumped  on  board  'De- 
lila.'  But  it  was  too  late,  for  when  I  arrived  at  my 
hole  it  was  already  taken!  Such  a  thing  had  never 
happened  to  me  in  three  years,  and  it   made  me   {tt\ 


I08  THE   HOLE 

as  if  I  were  being  robbed  under  my  own  eyes.  ' 
said  to  myself,  'Confound  it  all!  confound  it!'  An  1 
then  my  wife  began  to  nag  at  me.  'Eh!  Whar 
about  your  Casque  a  tnechel  Get  along,  you  drunk- 
ard! Are  you  satisfied,  you  great  fool?'  I  could  say 
nothing,  because  it  was  all  quite  true,  and  so  I 
landed  all  the  same  near  the  spot  and  tried  to  profit 
by  what  was  left.  Perhaps  after  all  the  fellow  might 
catch  nothing,  and  go  away. 

"He  was  a  little  thin  man,  in  white  linen  coat 
and  waistcoat,  and  with  a  large  straw  hat,  and  his 
wife,  a  fat  woman  who  was  doing  embroidery,  was 
behind  him. 

"When  she  saw  us  take  up  our  position  close 
to  their  place,  she  murmured:  'I  suppose  there  are 
no  other  places  on  the  river!'  And  my  wife,  who 
was  furious,  replied:  'People  who  know  how  to  be- 
have make  inquiries  about  the  habits  of  the  neigh- 
borhood before  occupying  reserved  spots.' 

"As  I  did  not  want  a  fuss,  I  said  to  her:  'Hold 
your  tongue,  Melie.  Let  them  go  on,  let  them  go 
on;  we  shall  see.' 

"Well,  we  had  fastened  'Delila'  under  the  willow- 
trees,  and  had  landed  and  were  fishing  side  by  side 
Melie  and  I,  close  to  the  two  others;  but  here. 
Monsieur,  I  must  enter  into  details. 

"We  had  only  been  there  about  five  minutes 
M/hen  our  male  neighbor's  float  began  to  go  down 
two  or  three  times,  and  then  he  pulled  out  a  chub 
as  thick  as  my  thigh,  rather  less,  perhaps,  but  nearly 
as  big!  My  heart  beat,  and  the  perspiration  stood  on 
my  forehead,  and  Melie  said  to  me:  'Well,  you  sot, 
did  you  see  that?' 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT  I09 

"Just  thtn,  Monsieur  Bru,  the  grocer  of  Poissy, 
who  was  fond  of  gudgeon  fishing,  passed  in  a  boat, 
and  called  out  to  me:  'So  somebody  has  taken  your 
usual  place,  Monsieur  Renard?'  And  1  replied:  'Yes, 
Monsieur  Bru,  there  are  some  people  in  this  world 
who  do  not  know  the  usages  of  common  politeness.' 

"The  little  man  in  linen  pretended  not  to  hear, 
nor  his  fat  lump  of  a  wife,  either." 

Here  the  F*resident  interrupted  him  a  second  time: 
"Take  care,  you  are  insuhing  the  widow,  Madame 
Flameche,  who  is  present." 

Renard  made  his  excuses:  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
I  beg  your  pardon,  my  anger  carried  me  away.  Well, 
not  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  passed  when  the  little 
man  caus:ht  another  chub  and  another  almost  imme- 
diately,  and  another  live  minutes  later. 

'•The  tears  were  in  my  eyes,  and  then  I  knew 
that  Madame  Renard  was  boiling  with  rage,  for  she 
kept  on  nagging  at  me:  'Oh!  how  horrid!  Don't 
you  see  that  he  is  robbing  you  of  your  tish  ?  Do  you 
think  that  you  will  catch  anything?  Not  even  a  frog, 
nothing  whatever.  Why,  my  hands  are  burning,  just 
to  think  of  it.' 

"But  1  said  to  myself:  'Let  us  wait  until  twelve 
o'clock.  Then  this  poaching  fellow  will  go  to  lunch, 
and  I  shall  get  my  place  again.'  As  for  me.  Monsieur 
le  President,  I  lunch  on  the  spot  every  Sunday;  we 
bring  our  provisions  in  'Delila.'  But  there!  At 
twelve  o'clock,  the  wretch  produced  a  fowl  out  of  a 
newspaper,  and  while  he  was  eating,  actually  he 
caught  another  chub! 

"Mclie  and  I  had  a  morsel  also,  just  a  mouthful,  a 
mere  nothing,  for  our  heart  was  not  in  it. 


no  THE   HOLE 

"Then  I  took  up  my  newspaper,  to  aid  my 
digestion.  Every  Sunday  I  read  the  'Gil  Bias'  in  the 
shade  like  that,  by  the  side  of  the  water.  It  is  Colum- 
bine's day,  you  know,  Columbine  who  writes  the 
articles  in  the  'Gil  Bias.'  I  generally  put  Madame 
Renard  into  a  passion  by  pretending  to  know  this 
Columbine.  It  is  not  true,  for  1  do  not  know  her, 
and  have  never  seen  her,  but  that  does  not  matter; 
she  writes  very  well,  and  then  she  says  things  straight 
out  for  a  woman.  She  suits  me,  and  there  are  not 
many  of  her  sort. 

"Well,  I  began  to  tease  my  wife,  but  she  got 
angry  immediately,  and  very  angry,  and  so  I  held  my 
tongue.  At  that  moment  our  two  witnesses,  who  are 
present  here.  Monsieur  Ladureau  and  Monsieur  Dur- 
dent,  appeared  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  We 
knew  each  other  by  sight.  The  little  man  began  to 
fish  again,  and  he  caught  so  many  that  I  trembled 
with  vexation,  and  his  wife  said:  'It  is  an  uncom- 
monly good  spot,  and  we  will  come  here  always. 
Desire.'  As  for  me,  a  cold  shiver  ran  down  my  back, 
and  Madame  Renard  kept  repeating:  'You  are  not  a 
man;  you  have  the  blood  of  a  chicken  in  your  veins'; 
and  suddenly  I  said  to  her:  'Look  here,  I  v/ould 
rather  go  away,  or  I  shall  only  be  doing  something 
foohsh.' 

"And  she  whispered  to  me  as  if  she  had  put  a 
red-hot  iron  under  my  nose:  'You  are  not  a  man. 
Now  you  are  going  to  run  away,  and  surrender  your 
place  !     Off  you  go,   Bazaine  ! ' 

"Well,  I  felt  that,  but  yet  I  did  not  move,  while 
the  other  fellow  pulled  out  a  bream.  Oh  !  I  never 
saw  such   a  large  one  before,  never  I    And  then   my 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT  I  if 

wife  began  to  talk  aloud,  as  if  she  were  thinking, 
and  you  can  see  her  trickery.  She  said:  'That  is 
what  one  might  call  stolen  fish,  seeing  that  we  baited 
the  place  ourselves.  At  any  rate,  they  ought  to  give 
us  back  the  money  we  have  spent  on  bait.' 

"Then  the  fat  woman  in  the  cotton  dress  said  in 
turn:  'Do  you  mean  to  call  us  thieves,  Madame?' 
And  they  began  to  explain,  and  then  they  came  to 
words.  Oh  !  Lord  !  those  creatures  know  some  good 
ones.  They  shouted  so  loud,  that  our  two  witnesses, 
who  were  on  the  other  bank,  began  to  call  out  by 
way  of  a  joke:  'Less  noise  over  there;  you  will  pre- 
vent your  husbands  from  fishing.' 

"The  fact  is  that  neither  of  us  moved  any  more 
than  if  we  had  been  two  tree-stumps.  We  remained 
there,  with  our  noses  over  the  water,  as  if  we  had 
heard  nothing,  but  by  Jove,  we  heard  all  the  same. 
'You  are  a  mere  liar.' 

"'You  are  nothing  better  than  a  street-walker.' 

"'You  are  only  a  trollop.' 

"'You  are  a  regular  strumpet.' 

"And  so  on,  and  so  on;  a  sailor  could  not  have 
said  more. 

"Suddenly  I  heard  a  noise  behind  me,  and  turned 
round.  It  was  the  other  one,  the  fat  woman  who 
had  fallen  on  to  my  wife  with  her  parasol.  Whack! 
whack  f  Melic  got  two  of  them,  but  she  was  furious, 
and  she  hits  hard  when  she  is  in  a  rage,  so  she 
caught  the  fat  woman  by  the  hair  and  then,  tliitmp, 
thump.  Slaps  in  the  face  rained  down  like  ripe 
plums.  I  should  have  let  them  go  on  —  women 
among  themselves,  men  among  themselves  —  it  does 
not  do  to  mix   the   blows,  but    the   little    man   in  the 


112  THE   HOLE 

linen  jacket  jumped  up  like  a  devil  and  was  going  to 
rush  at  my  wife.  Ah  !  no,  no,  not  that,  my  friend  ! 
I  caught  the  gentleman  with  the  end  of  my  fist, 
rrash,  crash,  one  on  the  nose,  the  other  in  the 
stomach.  He  threw  up  his  arms  and  legs  and  fell  on 
his  back  into  the  river,  just  into  the  hole. 

"I  should  have  fished  him  out  most  certainly, 
Monsieur  le  President,  if  1  had  had  the  time.  But  unfor- 
tunately the  fat  woman  got  the  better  of  it,  and  she 
was  drubbing  Melie  terribly.  I  know  that  1  ought  not 
to  have  assisted  her  while  the  man  was  drinking  his 
fill,  but  I  never  thought  that  he  would  drown,  and 
said  to  myself:  'Bah,   it  will  cool  him.' 

"I  therefore  ran  up  to  the  women  to  separate 
them,  and  all  I  received  was  scratches  and  bites. 
Good  Lord,  what  creatures!  Well,  it  took  me  five 
minutes,  and  perhaps  ten,  to  separate  those  two  vira- 
goes. When  I  turned  round,  there  was  nothing  to 
be  seen,  and  the  water  was  as  smooth  as  a  lake. 
The  others  yonder  kept  shouting:  'Fish  him  out!' 
It  was  all  very  well  to  say  that,  but  1  cannot  swim 
and  still  less  dive! 

"A:  last  the  man  from  the  dam  came,  and  two 
gentlemen  with  boat-hooks,  but  it  had  taken  over  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  He  was  found  at  the  bottom  of 
the  hole  in  eight  feet  of  water,  as  I  have  said,  but  he 
was  dead,  the  poor  little  man  in  his  linen  suit!  There 
are  the  facts,  such  as  I  have  sworn  to.  I  am  inno- 
cent, on  my  honor." 

The  witnesses  having  deposed  to  the  same  effect, 
the  accused  was  acquitted. 


LOVE 


THREE   PAGES   FROM    A   SPORTSMAN'S    BOOK 


HAVE  just   read   among  the   general 
news  in  one  of  the  papers  a  drama 
of  passion.    He  killed  her  and  then 
he    killed  himself,  so  he    must    have 
loved  her.    What  matters  He  or  She  ? 
Their   love    alone  matters  to  me;    and 
it    does     not   interest    me     because     it 
moves   me  or  astonishes  me,  or  because 
■    it  softens  me  or  makes  me  think,  but  be- 
cause it  recalls  to  my  mind    a  remembrance 
f  my  youth,  a  strange  recollection  of  a  hunt- 
C^^ '     ing    adventure   where     Love    appeared    to    me, 
/^»  as  the  Cross  appeared  to  the  early  Christians,  in 
-^     the  midst  of  the  heavens. 

I  was  born  with  all  the  instincts  and  the  senses  of 
primitive  man,  tempered  by  the  arguments  and  the 
restraints  of  a  civilized  being.  1  am  passionately  fond 
of  shooting,  yet  the  sight  of  the  wounded  animal,  of 
the  blood  on  its  feathers  and  on  my  hands,  affects 
my  heart  so  as  almost  to  make  it  stop. 

That   year    the   cold   weather   set   in   suddenly  to- 
ward  the   end  of  autumn,  and  I  was   invited   by  one 
Maup.  1—8  (113) 


114  LOVE 

of  my  cousins,  Karl  de  Rauville,  to  go  with  him  and 
shoot  ducks  on  the  marshes,  at  daybreak. 

My  cousin  was  a  jolly  fellow  of  forty,  with  red 
hair,  very  stout  and  bearded,  a  country  gentleman, 
an  amiable  semi-brute,  of  a  happy  disposition  and 
endowed  with  that  Gallic  wit  which  makes  even 
mediocrity  agreeable.  He  lived  in  a  house,  half  farm- 
house, half  chateau,  situated  in  a  broad  valley  through 
which  a  river  ran.  The  hills  right  and  left  were  cov- 
ered with  woods,  old  manorial  woods  where  mag- 
nificent trees  still  remained,  and  where  the  rarest 
feathei-ed  game  in  that  part  of  France  was  to  be 
found.  Eagles  were  shot  there  occasionally,  and  birdy  of 
passage,  such  as  rarely  venture  into  our  over-populated 
part  of  the  country,  invariably  lighted  amid  these  giant 
oaks,  as  if  they  knew  or  recognized  some  little  corner 
of  a  primeval  forest  which  had  remained  there  to  serve 
them  as  a  shelter  during  their  short  nocturnal  halt. 

In  the  valley  there  were  large  meadows  watered 
by  trenches  and  separated  by  hedges;  then,  further 
on,  the  river,  which  up  to  that  point  had  been  kept 
between  banks,  expanded  into  a  vast  marsh.  That 
marsh  was  the  best  shooting  ground  I  ever  saw.  It 
was  my  cousin's  chief  care,  and  he  kept  it  as  a 
preserve.  Through  the  rushes  that  covered  it,  and 
made  it  rustling  and  rough,  narrow  passages  had  been 
cut,  through  which  the  flat-bottomed  boats,  impelled 
and  steered  by  poles,  passed  along  silently  over  dead 
water,  brushing  up  against  the  reeds  and  making  the 
swift  fish  take  refuge  in  the  weeds,  and  the  wild  fowl, 
with  their  pointed,  black  heads,  dive  suddenly. 

I  am  passionately  fond  of  the  water:  of  the  sea, 
though  It  is  tco  vast,  too  full  of  movement,  impossi- 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  II5 

ble  to  hold;  of  the  rivers  which  are  so  beautiful,  but 
which  pass  on,  and  flee  away;  and  above  all  of  the 
marshes,  where  the  whole  unknown  existence  of 
aquatic  animals  palpitates.  The  marsh  is  an  entire 
world  in  itself  on  the  world  of  earth  —  a  different 
world,  which  has  its  own  life,  its  settled  inhabitants 
and  its  passing  travelers,  its  voices,  its  noises,  and 
above  all  its  mystery.  Nothing  is  more  impressive, 
nothing  more  disquieting,  more  terrifying  occasion- 
ally, than  a  fen.  Why  should  a  vague  terror  hang 
over  these  low  plains  covered  with  water?  Is  it  the 
low  rustling  of  the  rushes,  the  strange  will-o'-the- 
wisp  lights,  the  silence  which  prevails  on  calm  nights, 
the  still  mists  which  hang  over  the  surface  like  a 
shroud;  or  is  it  the  almost  inaudible  splashing,  so 
slight  and  so  gentle,  yet  sometimes  more  terrifying 
than  the  cannons  of  men  or  the  thunders  of  the 
skies,  '  which  make  these  marshes  resemble  coun- 
tries one  has  dreamed  of,  terrible  countries  holding  an 
unknown  and  dangerous  secret.'^ 

No,  something  else  belongs  to  it  —  another  mys- 
tery, profounder  and  graver,  floats  amid  these  thick 
mists,  perhaps  the  mystery  of  the  creation  itself!  For 
was  it  not  in  stagnant  and  muddy  water,  amid  the 
heavy  humidity  of  moist  land  under  the  heat  of  the 
sun,  that  the  first  germ  of  life  pulsated  and  expanded 
to  the  day? 

I  arrived  at  my  cousin's  in  the  evening.  It  was 
freezing  hard  enough  to  split  the  stones. 

During  dinner,  in  the  large  room  whose  side- 
boards, walls,  and  ceiling  were  covered  with  stuffed 
birds,  with    wings   extended   or  perched  on  branches 


Il6  LOVE 

to  which  they  were  nailed, —  hawks,  herons,  owls, 
nightjars,  buzzards,  tiercels,  vultures,  falcons, — my 
cousin  who,  dressed  in  a  sealskin  jacket,  himself  re- 
sembled some  strange  animal  from  a  cold  country, 
told  me  what  preparations  he  had  made  for  that  same 
night. 

We  were  to  start  at  half  past  three  in  the  morn- 
ing, so  as  to  arrive  at  the  place  which  he  had  chosen 
for  our  watching-place  at  about  half  past  four.  On 
that  spot  a  hut  had  been  built  of  lumps  of  ice,  so  as 
to  shelter  us  somewhat  from  the  trying  wind  which 
precedes  daybreak,  a  wind  so  cold  as  to  tear  the  flesh 
like  a  saw,  cut  it  like  the  blade  of  a  knife,  prick 
it  like  a  poisoned  sting,  twist  it  like  a  pair  of  pincers, 
and  burn  it  like  fire. 

My  cousin  rubbed  his  hands:  "1  have  never  known 
such  a  frost,"  he  said;  "it  is  already  twelve  degrees 
below  zero  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening." 

I  threw  myself  on  to  my  bed  immediately  after  we 
had  finished  our  meal,  and  went  to  sleep  by  the  light 
of  a  bright  fire  burning  in  the  grate. 

At  three  o'clock  he  woke  me.  In  my  turn,  I  put 
on  a  sheepskin,  and  found  my  cousin  Karl  covered 
with  a  bearskin.  After  having  each  swallowed  two 
cups  of  scalding  coffee,  followed  by  glasses  of  liqueur 
brandy,  we  started,  accompanied  by  a  gamekeeper 
and  our  dogs,   Plongeon  and  Pierrot. 

From  the  first  moment  that  I  got  outside,  I  felt 
chilled  to  the  very  marrow.  It  was  one  of  those 
nights  on  which  the  earth  seems  dead  with  cold. 
The  frozen  air  becomes  resisting  and  palpable,  such 
pain  does  it  cause;  no  breath  of  wind  moves  it, 
it    is    fixed    and    motionless;    it    bites  you,    pierces 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  II7 

through  you,  dries  you,  kills  the  trees,  the  plants,  the 
insects,  the  small  birds  themselves,  who  fall  from  the 
branches  on  to  the  hard  ground,  and  become  stiff 
themselves  under  the  grip  of  the  cold. 

The  moon,  which  was  in  her  last  quarter  and 
was  inclining  all  to  one  side,  seemed  fainting  in  the 
midst  of  space,  so  weak  that  she  was  unable  to 
wane,  forced  to  stay  up  yonder,  seized  and  paralyzed 
by  the  severity  of  the  weather.  She  shed  a  cold, 
mournful  light  over  the  world,  that  dying  and  wan 
light  which  she  gives  us  every  month,  at  the  end  of 
her  period. 

Karl  and  I  walked  side  by  side,  our  backs  bent,  our 
hands  in  our  pockets  and  our  guns  under  our  arms. 
Cur  boots,  which  were  wrapped  in  wool  so  that  we 
might  be  able  to  walk  without  slipping  on  the  frozen 
river,  made  no  sound,  and  I  looked  at  the  white  vapor 
which  our  dogs'  breath  made. 

We  were  soon  on  the  edge  of  the  marsh,  and 
entered  one  of  the  lanes  of  dry  rushes  which  ran 
through  the  low  forest. 

Our  elbows,  which  touched  the  long,  ribbonlike 
leaves,  left  a  slight  noise  behind  us,  and  1  was  seized, 
as  I  had  never  been  before,  by  the  powerful  and  sin- 
gular emotion  which  marshes  cause  in  me.  This  one 
was  dead,  dead  from  cold,  since  we  were  walking  on 
it,  in  the  middle  n(  its  population  of  dried  rushes. 

Suddenly,  at  the  turn  of  one  of  the  lanes,  1  per- 
ceived the  ice-hut  which  had  been  constructed  to 
shelter  us.  I  went  in,  and  as  we  had  nearly  an  hour 
to  wait  before  the  wandering  birds  would  awake,  I 
rolled  myself  up  in  my  rug  in  order  to  try  and  get 
warm.     Then,  lying  on  my  back,  I  began  to  look  at 


n8  LOVE 

the  misshapen  moon,  which  had  four  horns  through 
the  vaguely  transparent  walls  of  this  polar  house. 
But  the  frost  of  the  frozen  marshes,  the  cold  of  these 
walls,  the  cold  from  the  firmament  penetrated  me  so 
terribly  that  I  began  to  cough.  My  cousin  Karl  be- 
came uneasy. 

"No  matter  if  we  do  not  kill  much  to-day,"  he 
said:  "  I  do  not  want  you  to  catch  cold;  we  will  light 
a  fire."  And  he  told  the  gamekeeper  to  cut  some 
rushes. 

We  mxade  a  pile  in  the  middle  of  our  hut  which 
had  a  hole  in  the  middle  of  the  roof  to  let  out  the 
smoke,  and  when  the  red  flames  rose  up  to  the  clear, 
crystal  blocks  they  began  to  melt,  gently,  impercep- 
tibly, as  if  they  were  sweating.  Karl,  who  had  re- 
mained outside,  called  out  to  me:  "Come  and  look 
here!"  I  went  out  of  the  hut  and  remained  struck 
with  astonishment.  Our  hut,  in  the  shape  of  a  cone, 
looked  like  an  enormous  diamond  with  a  heart  of  fire, 
which  had  been  suddenly  planted  there  in  the  midst 
of  the  frozen  water  of  the  marsh.  And  inside,  we 
saw  two  fantastic  forms,  those  of  our  dogs,  who  were 
warming  themselves  at  the  fire. 

But  a  peculiar  cry,  a  lost,  a  wandering  cry,  passed 
over  our  heads,  and  the  light  from  our  hearth  showed 
us  the  wild  birds.  Nothing  moves  one  so  much  as 
the  first  clamor  of  a  life  which  one  does  not  see, 
which  passes  through  the  somber  air  so  quickly  and 
so  far  off,  just  before  the  first  streak  of  a  winter's  day 
appears  on  the  horizon.  It  seems  to  me,  at  this  glacial 
hour  of  dawn,  as  if  that  passing  cry  which  is  carried 
away  by  the  wings  of  a  bird  is  the  sigh  of  a  soul 
from  the  world! 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DH   MAUPASSANT  II9 

"Put  out  the  tire,"  said  Karl,  "it  is  getting  day- 
light." 

The  sky  was,  in  fact,  beginning  to  grow  pale,  and 
the  flights  of  ducks  made  long,  rapid  streaks  which 
were  soon  obliterated  on  the  sky. 

A  stream  of  light  burst  out  into  the  night;  Karl 
had  fired,  and  the  two  dogs  ran  forward. 

And  then,  nearly  every  minute,  now  he,  now  1, 
aimed  rapidly  as  soon  as  the  shadow  of  a  flying  flock 
appeared  above  the  rushes.  And  Pierrot  and  Plon- 
geon,  out  of  breath  but  happy,  retrieved  the  bleeding 
birds,  whose  eyes  still,  occasionally,  looked  at  us. 

The  sun  had  risen,  and  it  was  a  bright  day  with 
a  blue  sky,  and  we  were  thinking  of  taking  our  de- 
parture, when  two  birds  with  extended  necks  and 
outstretched  wings,  glided  rapidly  over  our  head.;.  I 
fired,  and  one  of  them  fell  almost  at  my  feet.  It  was 
a  teal,  with  a  silver  breast,  and  then,  in  the  blue 
space  above  me,  1  heard  a  voice,  the  voice  of  a  bird. 
It  was  a  short,  repeated,  heart-rending  lament;  and  the 
bird,  the  little  animal  that  had  been  spared  began  to 
turn  round  in  the  blue  sky,  over  our  heads,  looking 
at  its  dead  companion  which  1  was  holding  in  my 
hand. 

Karl  was  on  his  knees,  his  gun  to  his  shoulder 
watching  it  eagerly,  until  it  should  be  within  shot. 
"You  have  killed  the  duck,"  he  said,  "and  the  drake 
will  not  fly  away." 

He  certainly  did  not  fly  away;  he  circled  over 
our  heads  continually,  and  continued  his  cries.  Never 
have  any  groans  of  suffering  pained  me  so  much  as 
that  desolate  appeal,  as  that  lamentable  reproach  of 
this  poor  bird  which  was  lost  in  space. 


120  LOVE 

Occasionally  he  took  flight  under  the  menace  of 
the  gun  which  followed  his  movements,  and  seemed 
ready  to  continue  his  flight  alone,  but  as  he  could 
not  make  up  his  mind  to  this,  he  returned  to  find 
his  mate. 

"Leave  her  on  the  ground,"  Karl  said  to  me,  "he 
will  come  within  shot  by  and  by."  And  he  did  in- 
deed come  near  us,  careless  of  danger,  infatuated  by 
his  animal  love,  by  his  affection  for  his  mate,  which 
I  had  just  killed. 

Karl  fired,  and  it  was  as  if  somebody  had  cut  the 
string  which  held  the  bird  suspended.  I  saw  some- 
thing black  descend,  and  I  heard  the  noise  of  a  faU 
among  the  rushes.     And  Pierrot  brought  it  to  me. 

1  put  them  —  they  were  already  cold  —  into  the 
same  game-bag,  and  I  returned  to  Paris  the  same 
evening. 


THE    INN 


IKE  all  the  little  wooden  inns  in  the 
higher  Alps,  tiny  auberges  situated 
in  the  bare  and  rocky  gorges  which 
intersect   the  white    summits  of  the 
mountains,  the  inn  of  Schwarenbach 
is  a  refuge  for  travelers  v/ho  are  cross- 
ing the  Gem  mi. 

It  is  open  six  months  in  the  year^ 
and  is  inhabited  by  the  family  of  Jean 
[auser.  As  soon  as  the  snow  begins  to 
^^.i— =4  fall,  and  fills  the  valley  so  as  to  make  the 
road  down  to  Loeche  impassable,  the  father, 
with  mother,  daughter,  and  the  three  sons  de- 
part, leaving  the  house  in  charge  of  the  old 
guide,  Gaspard  Hari,  with  the  young  guide,  Ulrich 
Kunsi,  and  Sam,  the  great  mountain  dog. 

The  two  men  and  the  dog  remain  till  spring  in 
their  snowy  prison,  with  nothing  before  their  eyes 
except  immense,  white  slopes  of  the  Balmhorn,  sur- 
rounded by  light,  glistening  summits,  and  shut  up, 
blocked  up,  and  buried  by  the  snow  which  rises 
around  them,  enveloping  and  almost  burying  the 
little  house  up  to  the  eaves. 

(121) 


122  THE   INN 

It  was  the  day  on  which  the  Hauser  family  were 
going  to  return  to  Loeche,  as  winter  was  approach- 
ing, and  the  descent  was  becoming  dangerous.  Three 
mules  started  first,  laden  with  baggage  and  led  by 
the  three  sons.  Then  the  mother,  Jeanne  Hauser,  and 
her  daughter  Louise  mounted  a  fourth  mule,  and  set 
off  in  their  turn.  The  father  followed  them,  ac- 
companied by  the  two  men  in  charge,  who  were 
to  escort  the  family  as  far  as  the  brow  of  the 
descent.  First  of  all  they  skirted  the  small  lake,  now 
frozen  over,  at  the  foot  of  the  mass  of  rocks  which 
stretched  in  front  of  the  inn;  then  they  followed  the 
valley,  which  was  dominated  on  all  sides  by  snow- 
covered  peaks. 

A  ray  of  sunlight  glinted  into  that  little  white, 
glistening,  frozen  desert,  illuminating  it  with  a  cold 
and  dazzling  flame.  No  living  thing  appeared  among 
this  ocean  of  hills;  there  was  no  stir  in  that  immeas- 
urable solitude,  no  noise  disturbed  the  profound  silence. 

By  degrees  the  young  guide,  Ulrich  Kunsi,  a  tall, 
long-legged  Swiss,  left  daddy  Hauser  and  old  Gas- 
pard  behind,  in  order  to  catch  up  with  the  mule 
which  carried  the  two  women.  The  younger  one 
looked  at  him  as  he  approached,  as  if  she  would  call 
him  with  her  sad  eyes.  She  was  a  young,  light- 
haired  peasant  girl,  whose  milk-white  cheeks  and 
pale  hair  seemed  to  have  lost  their  color  by  long 
dwelling  amid  the  ice.  When  Ulrich  had  caught  up 
with  the  animal  which  carried  the  women,  he  put 
his  hand  on  the  crupper,  and  relaxed  his  speed. 
Mother  Hauser  began  to  talk  to  him,  and  enumerated 
with  minutest  detail  all  that  he  would  have  to  attend 
to    during   the   winter.     It   was   the   first   winter   he 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  123 

would  spend  up  there,  while  old  Hari  had  already 
spent  fourteen  winters  amid  the  snow,  at  the  inn  of 
Schwarenbach. 

Ulrich  KMHsi  listened,  without  appearing  to  un- 
derstand, and  looked  incessantly  at  the  girl.  From 
time  to  time  he  replied:  "Yes,  Madame  Hauser";  but 
his  thoughts  seemed  far  away,  and  his  calm  features 
remained  unmoved. 

They  reached  Lake  Daube,  whose  broad,  frozent 
surfiice  reached  to  the  bottom  of  the  valley.  On  the 
right,  the  Daubenhorn  showed  its  black  mass,  rising 
up  in  a  peak  above  the  enormous  moraines  of  the 
Lommeon  glacier,  which  soared  above  the  Wildstru- 
bel.  As  they  approached  the  neck  of  the  Gemmi, 
where  the  descent  to  Loeche  begins,  the  immense 
horizon  of  the  Alps  of  the  Valais,  from  which  the 
broad,  deep  valley  of  the  Rhone  separated  them,  came 
in  view. 

In  the  distance,  there  was  a  group  of  white,  un- 
equal, flat  or  pointed  mountain  summits,  which  glis- 
tened in  the  sun;  the  Mischabel  with  its  twin  peaks, 
the  huge  group  of  the  Weisshorn,  the  heavy  Bruneg- 
ghorn,  the  lofty  and  formidable  pyramid  of  Mont 
Cervin,  slayer  of  men,  and  the  Dent  Blanche,  that 
terrible  coquette. 

Then  beneath  them,  as  at  the  bottom  of  a  terrible 
abyss,  they  saw  Loeche,  its  houses  looking  like  grains 
of  sand  which  had  been  thrown  into  that  enormous 
crevice  which  finishes  and  closes  the  Gemmi,  and 
which  opens,  down  below,  on  to  the  Rhone. 

The  mule  stopped  at  the  edge  of  the  path,  which 
turns  and  twists  continually,  zigzagging  fantastically 
and  strangely  along  the   steep  side  of  the  mountain. 


124 


THE   INN 


as  far  as  the  almost  invisible  little  village  at  its  feet. 
The  women  jumped  into  the  snow,  and  the  two  old 
men  joined  them. 

"Well,"  father  Hauser  said,  "good-bye,  and  keep 
up  your  spirits  till  next  year,  my  friends,"  and  old 
Hari  replied:   "Till  next  year." 

They  embraced  each  other,  and  then  Madame 
Hauser  in  her  turn,  offered  her  cheek,  and  the  girl 
did  the  same.  When  Ulrich  Kunsi's  turn  came,  he 
whispered  in  Louise's  ear: 

"Do  not  forget  those  up  yonder,"  and  she  re- 
plied: "No,"  in  such  a  low  voice,  that  he  guessed 
what  she  had  said,  without  hearing  it. 

"Well,  adieu,"  Jean  Hauser  repeated,  "and  don't 
fall  ill."  Then,  going  before  the  two  women,  he 
commenced  the  descent,  and  soon  all  three  disap- 
peared at  the  first  turn  in  the  road,  while  the  two 
men  returned  to  the  inn  at  Schwarenbach. 

They  walked  slowly  side  by  side,  without  speak- 
ing. The  parting  was  over,  and  they  would  be  alone 
together  for  four  or  five  months.  Then  Gaspard  Hari 
began  to  relate  his  life  last  winter.  He  had  remained 
with  Michael  Canol,  who  was  too  old  now  to  stand 
it;  for  an  accident  might  happen  during  that  long 
solitude.  They  had  not  been  dull,  however;  the  only 
thing  was  to  be  resigned  to  it  from  the  first,  and  in 
the  end  one  would  find  plenty  of  distraction,  games 
and  other  means  of  whiling  away  the  time. 

Ulrich  Pyunsi  listened  to  him  with  his  eyes  on  the 
ground,  for  in  thought  he  was  with  those  who  were 
descending  to  the  village.  They  soon  came  in  sight 
of  the  inn,  which  was  scarcely  visible,  so  small  did  it 
look,  a  mere  black  speck  at  the  foot  of  that  enormous 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  125 

billow  of  snow.  When  they  opened  the  door,  Sam, 
the  great  curly  dog,  began  to  romp  round  them. 

"Come,  my  boy,"  old  Gaspard  said,  "we  have  no 
women  now,  so  we  must  get  our  own  dinner  ready. 
Go  and  peel  the  potatoes."  And  they  both  sat  down 
on  wooden  stools,  and  began  to  put  the  bread  into 
the  soup. 

The  next  morning  seemed  very  long  to  Kunsi. 
Old  Hari  smoked  and  smoked  beside  the  hearth, 
while  the  young  man  looked  out  of  the  window  at 
the  snow-covered  mountain  opposite  the  house.  In 
the  afternoon  he  went  out,  and  going  over  the  pre- 
vious day's  ground  again,  he  looked  for  the  traces  of 
the  mule  that  had  carried  the  two  women;  then  when 
he  had  reached  the  neck  of  the  Gemmi,  he  laid  him- 
self down  on  his  stomach,  and  looked  at  Loeche. 

The  village,  in  its  rocky  pit,  was  not  yet  buried 
under  the  snow,  although  the  white  masses  came 
quite  close  to  it,  balked,  however,  of  their  prey  by  the 
pine  woods  which  protected  the  hamlet.  From  his 
vantage  point  the  low  houses  looked  like  paving- 
stones  in  a  large  meadow.  Hauser's  little  daughter 
was  there  now  in  one  of  those  gray-colored  houses. 
In  which  ?  Ulrich  Kunsi  was  too  far  away  to  be  able 
to  make  them  out  separately.  How  he  would  have 
liked  to  go  down  while  he  was  yet  able! 

But  the  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  lofty  crest 
of  the  Wildstrubel,  and  the  young  man  returned  to 
the  chalet.  Daddy  Hari  was  smoking,  and,  when  he 
saw  his  mate  come  in,  proposed  a  game  of  cards  to 
him.  They  sat  down  opposite  each  other  for  a  long 
time  and  played  the  simple  game  called  brisque;  then, 
they  had  supper  and  went  to  bed. 


126  THE   INN 

The  following  days  were  like  the  first,  bright  and 
cold,  without  any  more  snow.  Old  Gaspard  spent 
his  afternoons  in  watching  the  eagles  and  other  rare 
birds  which  ventured  on  to  those  frozen  heights, 
while  Ulrich  journeyed  regularly  to  the  neck  of  the 
Gemmi  to  look  at  the  village.  In  the  evening  they 
played  at  cards,  dice,  or  dominoes,  and  lost  and 
won  trifling  sums,  just  to  create  an  interest  in  the 
game. 

One  morning  Hari,  who  was  up  first,  called  his 
companion.  A  moving  cloud  of  white  spray,  deep 
and  light,  was  falling  on  them  noiselessly,  and 
burying  them  by  degrees  under  a  dark,  thick  coverlet 
of  foam.  This  lasted  four  days  and  four  nights. 
It  was  necessary  to  free  the  door  and  the  windows, 
to  dig  out  a  passage,  and  to  cut  steps  to  get  over 
this  frozen  powder,  which  a  twelve-hours'  frost  had 
made  as  hard  as  the  granite  of  the  moraines. 

They  lived  like  prisoners,  not  venturing  outside 
their  abode.  They  had  divided  their  duties  and  per- 
formed them  regularly.  Ulrich  Kunsi  undertook  the 
scouring,  washing,  and  everything  that  belonged  to 
cleanliness.  He  also  chopped  up  the  wood,  while 
Gaspard  Hari  did  the  cooking  and  attended  to  the 
fire.  Their  regular  and  monotonous  work  was  re- 
lieved by  long  games  at  cards  or  dice,  but  they  never 
quarreled,  and  were  always  calm  and  placid.  They 
were  never  even  impatient  or  ill-humored,  nor  did 
they  ever  use  hard  words,  for  they  had  laid  in  a 
stock  of  patience  for  this  wintering  on  the  top  of  the 
mountain. 

Sometimes  old  Gaspard  took  his  rifle  and  went 
after    chamois,    and    occasionally    killed    one.      Then 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  127 

there  was  a  feast  in  the  inn  at  Schwarenbach,  and 
they  reveled  in  fresh  meat.  One  morning  he  went 
out  as  usual.  The  thermometer  outside  marked 
eighteen  degrees  of  frost,  and  as  the  sun  had  not  yet 
risen,  the  hunter  hoped  to  surprise  the  animals  at 
the  approaches  to  the  Wildstrubel.  Ulrich,  being 
alone,  remained  in  bed  until  ten  o'clock.  He  was  of 
a  sleepy  nature,  but  would  not  have  dared  to  give 
way  like  that  to  his  inclination  in  the  presence  of 
the  old  guide,  who  was  ever  an  early  riser.  He 
breakfasted  leisurely  with  Sam,  who  also  spent  his 
days  and  nights  in  sleeping  in  front  of  the  fire; 
then  he  felt  low-spirited  and  even  frightened  at 
the  solitude,  and  was  seized  by  a  longing  for  his 
daily  game  of  cards,  as  one  is  by  the  domination  of 
an  invincible  habit.  So  he  went  out  to  meet  his 
companion,  who  was  to  return  at  four  o'clock. 

The  snow  had  leveled  the  whole  deep  valley, 
filled  up  the  crevasses,  obliterated  all  signs  of  the 
two  lakes  and  covered  the  rocks,  so  that  between  the 
high  summits  there  was  nothing  but  an  immense, 
white,  regular,  dazzling,  and  frozen  surface.  For 
three  weeks,  Ulrich  had  not  been  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice,  from  which  he  had  looked  down  on  to  the 
village,  and  he  wanted  to  go  there  before  climbing 
the  slopes  which  led  to  the  Wildstrubel.  Loeche  was 
now  covered  by  the  snow,  and  the  houses  could 
scarcely  be  distinguished,  hidden  as  they  were  by 
that  white  cloak. 

Turning  to  the  right,  Ulrich  reached  the  Liimmern 
glacier.  He  strode  along  with  a  mountaineer's  long 
swinging  pace,  striking  the  snow,  which  was  as  hard 
as  a  rock,  with  his  iron-shod  stick,  and  with  piercing 


1^8  THE  INN  1 

eyes  looking  for  the  little  black,  moving  speck  in  the 
distance,  on  that  enormous,  white  expanse. 

When  he  reached  the  end  of  the  glacier  he 
stopped,  and  asked  himself  whether  the  old  man  had 
taken  that  road,  and  then  he  began  to  walk  along 
the  moraines  with  rapid  and  uneasy  steps.  The  day 
was  declining;  the  snow  was  assuming  a  rosy  tint, 
and  a  dry,  frozen  wind  blew  in  rough  gusts  over  its 
crystal  surface,  Ulrich  uttered  a  long,  shrill,  vibra- 
ting call.  His  voice  sped  through  the  deathlike  silence 
in  which  the  mountains  were  sleeping;  it  reached 
into  the  distance,  over  the  profound  and  motionless 
waves  of  glacial  foam,  like  the  cry  of  a  bird  over 
the  waves  of  the  sea;  then  it  died  away  and  nothing 
answered  him. 

He  started  off  again.  The  sun  had  sunk  behind 
the  mountain  tops,  which  still  were  purpled  with  the 
reflection  from  the  heavens;  but  the  depths  of  the 
valley  were  becoming  gray,  and  suddenly  the  young 
man  felt  frightened.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  si- 
lence, the  cold,  the  solitude,  the  wintry  death  of  these 
mountains  were  taking  possession  of  him,  were  stop- 
ping and  freezing  his  blood,  making  his  limbs  grow 
stiff,  and  turning  him  into  a  motionless  and  frozen 
object;  and  he  began  to  run  rapidly  toward  the  dwel- 
ling. The  old  man,  he  thought,  would  have  returned 
during  his  absence.  He  had  probably  taken  another 
road;  and  would,  no  doubt,  be  sitting  before  the  fire, 
with  a  dead  chamois  at  his  feet. 

He  soon  came  in  sight  of  the  inn,  but  no  smoke 
rose  from  it.  Ulrich  ran  faster.  Opening  the  door 
he  met  Sam  who  ran  up  to  him  to  greet  him,  but 
Gaspard  Hari  had  not  returned.     Kunsi,  in  his  alarm, 


WORKS  OF  GUY  DE   MAUPASSANT  12g 

turned  round  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  expected  to  find 
his  comrade  hidden  in  a  corner.  Then  he  relighted 
the  fire  and  made  the  soup;  hoping  every  moment  to 
see  the  old  man  come  in.  From  time  to  time  he 
went  out  to  see  if  Gaspard  were  not  in  sight.  It 
was  night  now,  that  wan  night  of  the  mountain,  a 
livid  night,  with  the  crescent  moon,  yellow  and  dim, 
just  disappearing  behind  the  mountain  tops,  and 
shining  faintly  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon. 

Then  the  young  man  went  in  and  sat  down  to 
warm  his  hands  and  feet,  while  he  pictured  to  him- 
self every  possible  sort  of  accident.  Gaspard  might 
have  broken  a  leg,  have  fallen  into  a  crevasse,  have 
taken  a  false  step  and  dislocated  his  ankle.  Perhaps 
he  was  lying  on  the  snow,  overcome  and  stiff  with 
the  cold,  in  agony  of  mind,  lost  and  perhaps  shout- 
ing for  help,  calling  with  all  his  might,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night. 

But  where  ?  The  mountain  was  so  vast,  so  rugged, 
so  dangerous  in  places,  especially  at  that  time  of  the 
year,  that  it  would  have  required  ten  or  twenty 
guides  walking  for  a  week  in  all  directions,  to  fmd  a 
man  in  that  immense  space.  Ulrich  Kunsi,  however, 
made  up  his  mind  to  set  out  with  Sam,  if  Gaspard 
did  not  return  by  one  in  the  morning;  and  he  made 
his  preparations. 

He  put  provisions  for  two  days  into  a  bag,  took 
his  steel  climbing-irons,  tied  a  long,  thin,  strong  rope 
round  his  waist  and  looked  to  see  that  his  iron- 
shod  stick  and  his  ax,  which  served  to  cut  steps 
in  the  ice,  were  in  order.  Then  he  waited.  The 
fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth,  the  great  dog  was 
snoring  in  front  of  it,  and   the  clock  was   ticking  in 

Mail  p.  1—9 


J3Q  THE   INN 

its  case   of  resounding  wood,  as   regularly  as  a  heart 
beating. 

He  waited,  his  ears  on  the  alert  for  distant  sounds, 
and  shivered  when  the  wind  blew  against  the  roof 
and  the  walls.  It  struck  twelve,  and  he  trembled. 
Then,  as  he  felt  frightened  and  shivery,  he  put  some 
water  on  the  fire,  so  that  he  might  have  hot  coffee 
before  starting.  When  the  clock  struck  one  he  got 
up,  woke  Sam,  opened  the  door  and  went  off  in  the 
direction  of  the  Wildstrubel.  For  five  hours  he 
ascended,  scaling  the  rocks  by  means  of  his  climbing- 
irons,  cutting  into  the  ice,  advancing  continually,  and 
occasionally  hauling  up  the  dog,  who  remained  below 
at  the  foot  of  some  slope  that  was  too  steep  for  him, 
by  means  of  the  rope.  About  six  o'clock  he  reached 
one  of  the  summits  to  which  old  Gaspard  often  came 
after  chamois,  and  he  waited  till  it  should  be  day- 
light. 

The  sky  was  growing  pale  overhead,  and  sud- 
denly a  strange  light,  springing,  nobody  could  tell 
whence,  suddenly  illuminated  the  immense  ocean  of 
pale  mountain  peaks,  which  stretched  for  many  leagues 
around  him.  It  seemed  as  if  this  vague  brightness 
arose  from  the  snow  itself,  in  order  to  spread  itself 
into  space.  By  degrees  the  highest  and  most  distant 
Si^r^mits  assumed  a  delicate,  fleshlike  rose  color,  and 
the  red  sun  appeared  behind  the  ponderous  giants  of 
the  Bernese  Alps. 

Ulrich  Kunsi  set  off  again,  walking  hke  a  hunter, 
stooping  and  looking  for  any  traces,  and  saying  to  his 
dog:  "Seek  old  fellow,  seekl" 

He  was  descending  the  mountain  now,  scanning 
the  depths  closely,  and  from   time  to  time   shouting, 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  131 

Uttering  a  loud,  prolonged  familiar  cry  which  soon 
died  away  in  that  silent  vastness.  Then,  he  put  his 
ear  to  the  ground,  to  listen.  He  thought  he  could 
distinguish  a  voice,  and  so  he  began  to  run  and  shout 
again.  But  he  heard  nothing  more  and  sat  down, 
worn  out  and  in  despair.  Toward  midday  he  break- 
fasted and  gave  Sam,  who  was  as  tired  as  himself, 
something  to  eat  also;  then  he  recommenced  his 
search. 

When  evening  came  he  was  still  walking,  having 
traveled  more  than  thirty  miles  over  the  mountains. 
As  he  was  too  far  away  to  return  home,  and  too 
tired  to  drag  himself  along  any  further,  he  dug  a  hole 
in  the  snow  and  crouched  in  it  with  his  dog,  under 
a  blanket  which  he  had  brought  with  him.  The  man 
and  the  dog  lay  side  by  side,  warming  themselves 
one  against  the  other,  but  frozen  to  the  marrow, 
nevertheless.  Ulrich  scarcely  slept,  his  mind  haunted 
by  visions  and  his  limbs   shaking  with  cold. 

Day  was  breaking  when  he  got  up.  His  legs 
were  as  stiff  as  iron  bars,  and  his  spirits  so  low  that 
he  was  ready  to  weep,  while  his  heart  was  beating 
so  that  he  almost  fell  with  excitement  whenever  he 
thought  he  heard  a  noise. 

Suddenly  he  imagined  that  he  also  was  going  to 
■die  of  cold  in  the  midst  of  this  vast  solitude.  The 
terror  of  such  a  death  roused  his  energies  and  gave 
him  renewed  vigor.  He  was  descending  toward  the 
inn,  falling  down  and  getting  up  again,  and  followed 
at  a  distance  by  Sam,  who  was  liraping  on  three  legs. 
They  did  not  reach  Schwarenbach  until  four  o'clock 
In  ihe  afternoon.  The  house  was  empty,  and  the 
youiig  man  made   a  fire,  had  something  to   eat,  and 


132  THE   INN 

went  to  sleep,  so  worn-out  that  he  did  not  think  of 
anything  more. 

He  slept  for  a  long  time,  for  a  very  long  time,  the 
unconquerable  sleep  of  exhaustion.  But  suddenly  a 
voice,  a  cry,  a  name:  "Ulrich,"  aroused  him  from 
his  profound  slumber,  and  made  him  sit  up  in  bed. 
Had  he  been  dreaming?  Was  it  one  of  those  strange 
appeals  which  cross  the  dreams  of  disquieted  minds  ? 
No,  he  heard  it  still,  that  reverberating  cry, —  which 
had  entered  at  his  ears  and  remained  in  his  brain, — • 
thrilling  him  to  the  tips  of  his  sinewy  fingers.  Cer- 
tainly, somebody  had  cried  out,  and  called:  "Ulrich!" 
There  was  somebody  there,  near  the  house,  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  that,  and  he  opened  the  door 
and  shouted:  "Is  it  you,  Gaspard?"  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  lungs.  But  there  was  no  reply,  no 
murmur,  no  groan,  nothing.  It  was  quite  dark,  and 
the  snow  looked  wan. 

The  wind  had  risen,  that  icy  wind  which  cracks 
the  rocks,  and  leaves  nothing  alive  on  those  deserted 
heights.  It  came  in  sudden  gusts,  more  parching  and 
more  deadly  than  the  burning  wind  of  the  desert, 
and  again  Ulrich  shouted:  "Gaspard!  Gaspard!  Gas- 
pard!" Then  he  waited  again.  Everything  was 
silent  on  the  mountain!  Then  he  shook  with  terror, 
and  v/ith  a  bound  he  was  inside  the  inn.  He  shut 
and  bolted  the  door,  and  then  fell  into  a  chair, 
trembling  all  over,  for  he  felt  certain  that  his  comrade 
had  called  him  at  the  moment  of  dissolution. 

He  was  certain  of  that,  as  certain  as  one  is  of  con- 
scious life  or  of  taste  when  eating.  Old  Gaspard  Hari 
had  been  dying  for  two  days  and  three  nights  some- 
where, in  some  hole,  in  one  of  those  deep,  untrodden 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  133 

ravines  whose  whiteness  is  more  sinister  than  subter- 
ranean darkness.  He  had  been  dying  for  two  days 
and  three  nights  and  he  had  just  then  died,  thinking 
of  his  comrade.  His  soul,  almost  before  it  was  re- 
leased, had  taken  its  flight  to  the  inn  where  Ulrich 
was  sleeping,  and  it  had  called  him  by  that  terrible 
and  mysterious  power  which  the  spirits  of  the  dead 
possess.  That  voiceless  soul  had  cried  to  the  v/orn- 
out  soul  of  the  sleeper;  it  had  uttered  its  last  fare- 
well, or  its  reproach,  or  its  curse  on  the  man  who 
had  not  searched  carefully  enough. 

And  Ulrich  felt  that  it  was  there,  quite  close  to 
him,  behind  the  wall,  behind  the  door  which  he  had 
just  fastened.  It  was  wandering  about,  like  a  night 
bird  which  skims  a  lighted  window  with  his  wings, 
and  the  terrified  young  man  was  ready  to  scream 
with  horror.  He  wanted  to  run  away,  but  did  not 
dare  go  out;  he  did  not  dare,  and  would  never  dare 
in  the  future,  for  that  phantom  would  remain  there 
day  and  night,  round  the  inn,  as  long  as  the  old 
man's  body  was  not  recovered  and  deposited  in  the 
consecrated  earth  of  a  churchyard. 

Daylight  came,  and  Kunsi  recovered  some  of  his 
courage  with  the  return  of  the  bright  sun.  He  pre- 
pared his  meal,  gave  his  dog  some  food,  and  then 
remained  motionless  on  a  chair,  tortured  at  heart  as 
he  thought  of  the  old  man  lying  on  the  snow.  Then, 
as  soon  as  night  once  more  covered  the  mountains, 
new  terrors  assailed  him.  He  now  walked  up  and 
down  the  dark  kitchen,  which  was  scarcely  lighted 
by  the  flame  of  one  candle.  He  walked  from  one 
end  of  it  to  the  other  with  great  strides,  listening, 
listening  to  hear  the  terrible  cry  of  the  preceding  night 


134 


THE  INN 


again  break  the  dreary  silence  outside.  He  felt  him- 
self alone,  unhappy  man,  as  no  man  had  ever  been 
alone  before  !  Alone  in  this  immense  desert  of  snow, 
alone  five  thousand  feet  above  the  inhabited  earth, 
above  human  habitations,  above  that  stirring,  noisy, 
palpitating  life,  alone  under  an  icy  sky  !  A  mad 
longing  impelled  him  to  run  away,  no  matter  where, 
to  get  down  to  Loeche  by  flinging  himself  over  the 
precipice;  but  he  did  not  even  dare  to  open  the  door, 
as  he  felt  sure  that  the  other,  the  dead,  man  would 
bar  his  road,  so  that  he  might  not  be  obliged  to 
remain  up  there  alone. 

Toward  midnight,  tired  with  walking,  worn-out 
by  grief  and  fear,  he  fell  into  a  doze  in  his  chair,  for 
he  was  afraid  of  his  bed,  as  one  is  of  a  haunted 
spot.  But  suddenly  the  strident  cry  of  the  preceding 
evening  pierced  his  ears,  so  shrill  that  Ulrich  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  repulse  the  ghost,  and  he  fell  on  to 
his  back  with  his  chair. 

Sam,  who  was  awakened  by  the  noise,  began  to 
howl  as  frightened  dogs  do,  and  trotted  all  about  the 
house  trying  to  find  out  where  the  danger  came 
from.  When  he  got  to  the  door,  he  sniffed  beneath 
it,  smelling  vigorously,  with  his  coat  bristling  and 
his  tail  stiff  while  he  growled  angrily.  Kunsi,  who 
was  terrified,  jumped  up,  and  holding  his  chair  by 
one  leg,  cried:  "Don't  come  in,  don't  come  in, 
or  I  shall  kill  you."  And  the  dog,  excited  by  this 
threat,  barked  angrily  at  that  invisible  enemy  who 
defied  his  master's  voice.  By  degrees^  however,  he 
quieted  down,  came  back  and  stretched  himself  in 
front  of  the  fire.  But  he  was  uneasy,  and  kept  his 
head  up,  and  growled  between  his  teeth. 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


n5 


Ulrich,  in  turn,  recovered  his  senses,  hut  as  he 
felt  faint  with  terror,  he  went  and  got  a  bottle  of 
brandy  out  of  the  sideboard,  and  drank  otT  several 
glasses,  one  after  another,  at  a  gulp.  His  ideas  became 
vague,  his  courage  revived,  and  a  feverish  glow  ran 
through  his  veins. 

He  ate  scarcely  anything  the  next  day,  and  limited 
himself  to  alcohol;  so  he  lived  for  several  days,  like 
a  drunken  brute.  As  soon  as  he  thought  of  Gaspard 
Hari  he  began  to  drink  again,  and  went  on  drinking 
until  he  fell  on  to  the  floor,  overcome  by  intoxica- 
tion. And  there  he  remained  on  his  face,  dead 
drunk,  his  limbs  benumbed,  and  snoring  with  his 
face  to  the  ground.  But  scarcely  had  he  digested  the 
maddening  and  burning  liquor,  than  the  same  cry, 
"Ulrich,"  woke  him  like  a  bullet  piercing  his  brain, 
and  he  got  up,  still  staggering,  stretching  out  his 
hands  to  save  himself  from  falling,  and  calling  to 
Sam  to  help  him.  And  the  dog,  who  appeared  to 
be  going  mad  like  his  master,  rushed  to  the  door, 
scratched  it  with  his  claws,  and  gnawed  it  with  his 
long  white  teeth,  while  the  young  man,  his  neck 
thrown  back,  and  his  head  in  the  air,  drank  the 
brandy  in  gulps,  as  if  it  v/ere  cold  water,  so  that  it 
might  by  and  by  send  his  thoughts,  his  frantic  terror, 
and  his  memory,  to  sleep  again. 

In  three  weeks  he  had  consumed  all  his  stock  of 
ardent  spirits.  But  his  continual  drunkenness  only 
lulled  his  terror,  v/hich  awoke  more  furiously  than 
ever,  as  soon  as  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  calm 
it  by  drinking.  His  fixed  idea,  which  had  been  in- 
tensified by  a  month  of  drunkenness,  and  which  was 
continually  increasing  in   his   absolute   solitude^  pene- 


1^6  IHE  INN 

trated  him  like  a  gimlet.  He  now  walked  about  his 
house  like  a  wild  beast  in  its  cage,  putting  his  ear  to 
the  door  to  listen  if  the  other  were  there,  and  defying 
him  through  the  wall.  Then  as  soon  as  he  dozed, 
overcome  by  fatigue,  he  heard  the  voice  which  made 
him  leap  to  his  feet. 

At  last  one  night,  as  cowards  do  when  driven  to 
extremity,  he  sprang  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  to 
see  who  was  calling  him,  and  to  force  him  to  keep 
quiet.  But  such  a  gust  of  cold  wind  blew  into  his 
face  that  it  chilled  him  to  the  bone.  He  closed  and 
bohed  the  door  again  immediately,  without  noticing  that 
Sam  had  rushed  out.  Then,  as  he  was  shivering  with 
cold,  he  threw  some  wood  on  the  fire,  and  sat  down 
in  front  of  it  to  warm  himself.  But  suddenly  he 
started,  for  somebody  was  scratching  at  the  wall, 
and  crying.  In  desperation  he  called  out:  "Go 
away!"  but  was  answered  by  another  long,  sorrow- 
ful wail. 

Then  all  his  remaining  senses  forsook  him,  from 
sheer  fright.  He  repeated:  "Go  away!"  and  turned 
round  to  find  some  corner  in  which  to  hide,  while 
the  other  person  went  round  the  house  still  crying, 
and  rubbing  against  the  wall.  Ulrich  went  to  the 
oak  sideboard,  which  was  full  of  plates  and  dishes 
and  of  provisions,  and  lifting  it  up  with  superhuman 
strength,  he  dragged  it  to  the  door,  so  as  to  form  a 
barricade.  Then  piling  up  all  the  rest  of  the  furni- 
ture, the  mattresses,  paillasses,  and  chairs,  he  stopped 
up  the  windows  as  men  do  when  assailed  by  an 
enemy. 

But  the  person  outside  now  uttered  long,  plaintive, 
mournful   groans,   to  which  the  young  man    replied 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  157 

by  similar  groans,  and  thus  days  and  nights  passed 
without  their  ceasing  to  howl  at  each  other.  The 
one  was  continually  walking  round  the  house  and 
scraped  the  walls  with  his  nails  so  vigorously  that  it 
seemed  as  if  he  wished  to  destroy  them,  while  the 
other,  inside,  followed  all  his  movements,  stooping 
down,  and  holding  his  ear  to  the  walls,  and  replying 
to  all  his  appeals  with  terrible  cries.  One  evening, 
however,  Ulrich  heard  nothing  more,  and  he  sat 
down,  so  overcome  by  fatigue  that  he  went  to  sleep 
immediately,  and  awoke  in  the  morning  without  a 
thought,  without  any  recollection  of  what  had  hap- 
pened, just  as  if  his  head  had  been  emptied  during 
his  heavy  sleep.     But   he   felt   hungry,  and  he  ate. 

The  winter  was  over,  and  the  Gemmi  pass  was 
practicable  again,  so  the  llauser  family  started  off  to 
return  to  their  inn.  As  soon  as  they  had  reached 
the  top  of  the  ascent,  the  women  mounted  their 
mule,  and  spoke  about  the  two  men  who  they  would 
meet  again  shortly.  They  were,  indeed,  rather  sur- 
prised that  neither  of  them  had  come  down  a  few 
days  before,  as  soon  as  the  road  became  passable,  in 
order  to  tell  them  all  about  their  long  winter  sojourn. 
At  last,  however,  they  saw  the  inn,  still  covered  with 
snow,  like  a  quilt.  The  door  and  the  windows  were 
closed,  but  a  little  smoke  was  coming  out  of  the 
chimney,  which  reassured  old  Mauser;  on  going  up 
to  the  door,  however,  he  saw  the  skeleton  of  an 
animal  which  had  been  torn  to  pieces  by  the  eagles, 
a  large  skeleton  lying  on  its  side. 

They  all  looked  closely  at  it,  and  the  mother  said: 
"That    must    be    Sam."    Then    she    shouted:     "  Hi  I 


U8 


THE  INN 


Gaspard ! "  A  cry  from  the  interior  of  the  house 
answered  her,  so  sharp  a  cry  that  one  might  have 
thought  some  animal  uttered  it.  Old  Hauser  repeated: 
"Hi!  Gaspard!"  and  they  heard  another  cry,  simi- 
lar to  the  first. 

Then  the  three  men,  the  father  and  the  two  sons, 
tried  to  open  the  door,  but  it  resisted  their  efforts. 
From  the  empty  cow-stall  they  took  a  beam  to  serve 
as  a  battering-ram,  and  hurled  it  against  the  door 
with  all  their  might.  The  wood  gave  way,  and  the 
boards  flew  into  splinters;  then  the  house  was  shaken 
by  a  loud  voice,  and  inside,  behind  the  sideboard 
which  was  overturned,  they  saw  a  man  standing 
upright,  his  hair  falling  on  to  his  shoulders  and  a 
beard  descending  to  his  breast,  with  shining  eyes 
and  nothing  but  rags  to  cover  him.  They  did  not 
recognize  him,  but  Louise  Hauser  exclaimed:  "It  is 
Ulrich,  mother."  And  her  mother  declared  that  it 
was  Ulrich,  although  his  hair  was  white. 

He  allowed  them  to  go  up  to  him,  and  to  touch 
him,  but  he  did  not  reply  to  any  of  their  questions, 
and  they  were  obliged  to  take  him  to  Loeche,  where 
the  doctors  found  that  he  was  mad.  Nobody  ever 
knew  what  had  become  of  his  companion. 

Little  Louise  Hauser  nearly  died  that  summer  of 
decline,  which  the  medical  men  attributed  to  the  cold 
air  of  the  mountains. 


A   FAMILY 


WAS  going  to  see  my  friend  Simon  Ra- 

devin   once    more,  for   I  had  not   seen 

iiim  for  fifteen  years.    Formerly  he  was 

my  most  intimate  friend,  and  I  used  to 

spend  long,  quiet,  and  happy  evenings 

with  him.     He  was  one  of  those  men 

to  whom   one  tells   the    most  intimate 

aflfairs  of  the  heart,   and  in  whom  one 

finds,  when  quietly  talking,  rare,  clever, 

ingenious,  and  refined  thoughts  —  thoughts 

which   stimulate  and  capture  the  mind. 

For  years  we  h.id  scarcely  been  separated: 
'e  had  lived,  traveled,  thought,  and  dreamed 
_;ther;  had  liked  the  same  things  with  the 
same  liking,  admired  the  same  books,  comprehended 
the  same  works,  shivered  with  the  same  sensations, 
and  very  often  laughed  at  the  same  individuals,  whom 
we  understood  completely,  by  merely  exchanging  a 
glance. 

Then    he    married  —  quite    unexpectedly  married    a 
little  girl,  from  the  provinces,  who  had  come  to  Paris 
in  search  of  a    husband.     How  ever   could  that   little, 
(139) 


I40 


A   FAMILY 


thin,  insipidly  fair  girl,  with  her  weak  hands,  her 
light,  vacant  eyes,  and  her  clear,  silly  voice,  who  was 
exactly  like  a  hundred  thousand  marriageable  dolls, 
have  picked  up  that  intelligent,  clever  young  fellow? 
Can  anyone  understand  these  things?  No  doubt  he 
had  hoped  for  happiness,  simple,  quiet,  and  long- 
enduring  happiness,  in  the  arms  of  a  good,  tender, 
and  faithful  woman;  he  had  seen  all  that  in  the 
transparent    looks    of    that  schoolgirl  with    light  hair. 

He  had  not  dreamed  of  the  fact  that  an  active, 
living,  and  vibrating  man  grows  tired  as  soon  as  he 
has  comprehended  the  stupid  reality  of  a  common- 
place life,  unless  indeed,  he  becomes  so  brutahzed 
as  to  be  callous  to  externals. 

What  would  he  be  lik.e  when  I  met  him  again? 
Still  lively,  witty,  light-hearted,  and  enthusiastic,  or  in 
a  state  of  mental  torpor  through  provincial  life  ?  A 
man  can  change  a  great  deal  in  the  course  of  fifteen 
years  1 

The  train  stopped  at  a  small  station,  and  as  I  got 
out  of  the  carriage,  a  stout,  a  very  stout  man  with 
red  cheeks  and  a  big  stomach  rushed  up  to  me  with 
open  arms,  exclaiming:  "George!" 

I  embraced  him,  but  I  had  not  recognized  him, 
■and  then  I  said,  in  astonishment:  "By  Jove!  You 
have  not  grown  thin  I " 

And  he  replied  with  a  laugh:  "What  did  you 
expect  ?  Good  living,  a  good  table,  and  good  nights  ! 
Eating  and  sleeping,  that  is  my  existence  ! " 

I  looked  at  him  closely,  trying  to  find  the  features 
I  held  so  dear  in  that  broad  face.  His  eyes  alone 
had  not  altered,  but   1  no  longer  saw  the  same  looks 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT    "  141 

in  them,  and  I  said  to  myself:  "If  looks  be  the 
reflection  of  the  mind,  the  thoughts  in  that  head  are 
not  what  they  used  to  be  —  those  thoughts  which 
I  knew  so  well." 

Yet  his  eyes  were  bright,  full  of  pleasure  and 
friendship,  but  they  had  not  that  clear,  intelligent 
expression  which  tells  better  than  do  words  the  value 
of  the  mind.     Suddenly  he  said  to  me: 

"Here  are  my  two  eldest  children."  A  girl  of 
fourteen,  who  was  almost  a  woman,  and  a  boy  of 
thirteen,  in  the  dress  of  a  pupil  from  a  lycee,  came 
forward  in  a  hesitating  and  awkward  manner,  and  I 
said  in  a  low  voice:     "Are  they  yours?" 

"Of  course  they  are,"  he  replied  laughing. 

"How  many  have  you?" 

"Five!     There  are  three  more  indoors." 

He  said  that  in  a  proud,  self-satislied,  almost 
triumphant  manner,  and  I  felt  profound  pity,  mingled 
with  a  feeling  of  vague  contempt  for  this  vainglorious 
and  simple  reproducer  of  his  species,  who  spent  his 
nights  in  his  country  house  in  uxorious  pleasures. 

I  got  into  a  carriage,  which  he  drove  himself,  and 
we  set  off  through  the  town,  a  dull,  sleepy,  gloomy 
town  where  nothing  was  moving  in  the  streets  save 
a  few  dogs  and  two  or  three  maidservants.  Here 
and  there  a  shopkeeper  standing  at  his  door  took  off 
his  hat,  and  Simon  returned  the  salute  and  told  me 
the  man's  name  —  no  doubt  to  show  me  that  he 
knew  all  the  inhabitants  personally.  The  thought 
struck  me  that  he  was  thinking  of  becoming  a  candi- 
date for  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  that  dream  of  all 
who  have  buried  themselves  in  the  provinces. 

We   were    soon    out    of   the   town;    the    carriage 


j^2  A   FAMILY  ' 

turned  into  a  garden  which  had  some  pretensions  to 
a  park,  and  stopped  in  front  of  a  turreted  house, 
which  tried  to  pass  for  a  chateau. 

"That  is  my  den,"  Simon  said,  so  that  he  might 
be  comphmented  on  it,  and  I  rephed  that  it  was  de- 
lightful. 

A  lady  appeared  on  the  steps,  dressed  up  for  a 
visitor,  her  hair  done  for  a  visitor,  and  with  phrases 
ready  prepared  for  a  visitor.  She  was  no  longer  the 
light-haired,  insipid  girl  1  had  seen  in  church  fifteen 
years  previously,  but  a  stout  lady  in  curls  and  flounces, 
one  of  those  ladies  of  uncertain  age,  without  intellect, 
without  any  of  those  things  which  constitute  a  woman. 
In  short  she  was  a  mother,  a  stout,  commonplace 
mother,  a  human  layer  and  brood  mare,  a  machine  of 
flesh  which  procreates,  without  mental  care  save  for 
her  children  and  her  housekeeping  book. 

She  welcomed  me,  and  I  went  into  the  hall,  where 
three  children,  ranged  according  to  their  height,  were 
ranked  for  review,  like  firemen  before  a  mayor.  "Ah! 
ah!  so  there  are  the  others?"  said  1.  And  Simon, 
who  was  radiant  with  pleasure,  named  them:  "Jean, 
Sophie,  and  Gontran." 

The  door  of  the  drawing-room  was  open.  I  went 
in,  and  in  the  depths  of  an  easy-chair  I  saw  some- 
thing trembling,  a  man,  an  old,  paralyzed  man. 
Madame  Radevm  came  forward  and  said:  "This  is 
my  grandfather.  Monsieur;  he  is  eighty-seven."  And 
then  she  shouted  into  the  shaking  old  man's  ears: 
"This  is  a  friend  of  Simon's,  grandpapa." 

The  old  gentleman  tried  to  say  "Good  day"  to 
me,  and  he  muttered:  "Oua,  oua,  oua,"  and  waved 
his  hand. 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  143 

I  took  a  seat  saying:  "You  are  very  kind,  Mon- 
sieur." 

Simon  had  just  come  in,  and  he  said  with  a  laugh: 
*'So!  You  have  made  grandpapa's  acquaintance.  He 
is  priceless,  is  that  old  man.  He  is  the  delight  of  the 
children,  and  he  is  so  greedy  that  he  almost  kills  him- 
self "at  every  meal.  You  have  no  idea  what  he  would 
eat  if  he  were  allowed  to  do  as  he  pleased.  But  you 
will  see,  you  will  see.  He  looks  all  the  sweets  over 
as  if  they  were  so  many  girls.  You  have  never  seen 
anything  funnier;  you  v/ill  see  it  presently." 

I  was  then  shown  to  my  room  to  change  my 
dress  for  dinner,  and  hearing  a  great  clatter  behind 
me  on  the  stairs,  1  turned  round  and  saw  that  all  the 
children  were  following  me  behind  their  father  —  to  do 
me  honor,  no  doubt. 

My  windows  looked  out  on  to  a  plain,  a  bare, 
interminable  plain,  an  ocean  of  grass,  of  wheat,  and  of 
oats,  without  a  clump  of  trees  or  any  rising  ground, 
a  striking  and  melancholy  picture  of  the  life  which 
they  must  be  leading  in  that  house. 

A  bell  rang;  it  was  for  dinner,  and  so  I  went 
downstairs.  Madame  Radevin  took  my  arm  in  a 
ceremonious  manner,  and  we  went  into  the  dining- 
room.  A  footman  wheeled  in  the  old  man's  arm- 
chair, who  gave  a  greedy  and  curious  look  at  the 
dessert,  as  with  difficulty  he  turned  his  shaking  head 
from  one  dish  to  the  other. 

Simon  rubbed  his  hands,  saying:  "You  will  be 
amused."  All  the  children  understood  that  I  was 
going  to  be  indulged  with  the  sight  of  their  greedy 
grandfather  and  they  began  to  laugh  accordingly, 
while   their  mother   merely  smiled  and   shrugged   her 


144 


A   FAMILY 


shoulders.  Simon,  making  a  speaking  trumpet  of  his 
hands,  shouted  at  the  old  man:  "This  evening  there 
is  sweet  rice-cream,"  and  the  wrinkled  face"  of  the 
grandfather  brightened,  he  trembled  violently  all  over, 
showing  that  he  had  understood  and  was  very 
pleased.     The  dinner  began. 

"Just  lookl"  Simon  whispered.  The  grandfather 
did  not  like  the  soup,  and  refused  to  eat  it;  but  he 
was  made  to,  on  account  of  his  health.  The  footman 
forced  the  spoon  into  his  mouth,  while  the  old  man 
blew  energetically,  so  as  not  to  swallow  the  soup, 
which  was  thus  scattered  like  a  stream  of  water  on 
to  the  table  and  over  his  neighbors.  The  children 
shook  with  delight  at  the  spectacle,  while  their  father, 
who  was  also  amused,  said:  "Isn't  the  old  man 
funny?" 

During  the  whole  meal  they  were  all  taken  up 
solely  with  him.  With  his  eyes  he  devoured  the 
dishes  which  were  put  on  the  table,  and  with  trem- 
bling hands  tried  to  seize  them  and  pull  them  to 
him..  They  put  them  almost  within  his  reach  to  see 
his  useless  efforts,  his  trembling  clutches  at  them, 
the  piteous  appeal  of  his  whole  nature,  of  his  eyes, 
of  his  mouth,  and  of  his  nose  as  he  smelled  them.  He 
slobbered  on  to  his  table  napkin  with  eagerness, 
while  uttering  inarticulate  grunts,  and  the  whole 
family  was  highly  amused  at  this  horrible  and  gro- 
tesque scene. 

Then  they  put  a  tiny  morsel  on  to  his  plate, 
which  he  ate  with  feverish  gluttony,  in  order  to  get 
something  more  as  soon  as  possible.  When  the  rice- 
cream  was  brought  in,  he  nearly  had  a  fit,  and 
groaned    with    greediness.      Gontran    called    out    to 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DH   MAUPASSANT  ij.=, 

him:  "You  have  ealen  too  much  already;  you  wil! 
have  no  more."  And  they  pretended  not  lo  give  him 
any.  Then  he  began  to  cry  —  cry  and  tremble  more 
violently  than  ever,  while  all  the  children  laughed. 
At  last,  however,  they  gave  him  his  helping,  a  very 
small  piece.  As  he  ate  the  first  mouthful  of  the  pud- 
ding, he  made  a  comical  and  greedy  noise  in  his  throat, 
and  a  movement  with  his  neck  like  ducks  do,  when 
they  swallow  too  large  a  morsel,  and  then,  when  he 
had  done,  he  began  to  stamp  his  feet,  so  as  to  get 
more. 

1  was  seized  with  pity  for  this  pitiable  and  ridic- 
ulous Tantalus,  and  interposed  on  his  behalf:  "Please, 
will  you  not  give  him  a  little  more   rice.^" 

But  Simon  replied:  "Oh!  no  my  dear  fellow,  if 
he  were  to  eat  too  much,  it  might  harm  him  at  his 
age." 

I  held  my  tongue,  and  thought  over  these  words. 
Oh!  ethics!  Oh!  logic!  Oh!  wisdom!  At  his  age! 
So  they  deprived  him  of  his  only  remaining  pleasure 
out  of  regard  for  his  health!  His  health!  What 
would  he  do  with  it,  inert  and  trembling  wreck  that 
he  was?  They  v/ere  taking  care  of  his  life,  so  they 
said.  His  life?  How  many  days?  Ten,  twenty,  fifty, 
or  a  hundred?  Why?  For  his  own  sake?  Or  to 
preserve  for  some  time  longer,  the  spectacle  of  his 
impotent  greediness  in  the  family. 

There  was  nothing  loft  for  him  to  do  in  this  life, 
nothing  whatever.  He  had  one  single  wish  left,  one 
sole  pleasure;  why  not  grant  him  that  last  solace 
constantly,  until  he  died  ? 

After  playing  cards  for  a  long  time,  I  went  up  to 
my   room   and   to   bed;    1    was   low-spirited    and  sad, 

Maup.  I— 10 


146 


A   FAMILY 


sad,  sad!  I  sat  at.  my  window,  but  I  heard  nothing 
but  the  beautiful  watbling  of  a  bird  in  a  tree,  some- 
where in  the  distance.  No  doubt  the  bird  was  sing- 
ing thus  in  a  low  voice  during  the  night,  to  lull  his 
mate,  who  was  sleeping  on  her  eggs. 

And  I  thought  of  my  poor  friend's  five  children, 
and  to  myself  pictured  him  snoring  by  the  side  of 
his  ugly  wife. 


BELLFLOWER* 


^— <I5^  Y     Y  o\v   Strange    are   those  old    recol- 

lections which  haunt  us,  without 
our  being  able  to  get  rid  of  them  I 
This  one  is  so  very  old  that  I 
cannot  understand  how  it  has  clung 
so  vividly  and  tenaciously  to  my 
■  aiemory.  Since  then  1  have  seen  so 
many  sinister  things,  either  affecting 
or  terrible,  that  I  am  astonished  at  not 
)eing  able  to  pass  a  single  day  without 
face  of  Mother  Bellflower  recurring  to 
my  mind's  eye,  just  as  1  knew  her  for- 
merly, long,  long  ago,  when  I  was  ten  or 
twelve  years  old. 
She  was  an  old  seamstress  who  came  to  my 
parents'  house  once  a  week,  every  Thursday,  to  mend 
the  linen.  My  parents  lived  in  one  of  those  country 
houses  called  chateaux,  which  are  merely  old  houses 
with  pointed  roofs,  to  which  are  attached  three  or 
Tour  adjacent  farms. 


*  Clochette. 


(147) 


1^8  BELLFLOWER 

The  village,  a  large  village,  almost  a  small  market 
town,  was  a  few  hundred  yards  off,  and  nestled 
round  the  church,  a  red  brick  church,  which  had  be- 
come black  with  age. 

Well,  every  Thursday  Mother  Bellflower  came  be- 
tween half  past  six  and  seven  in  the  morning,  and 
went  immediately  into  the  linen-room  and  began  to 
work.  She  was  a  tall,  thin,  bearded  or  rather  hairy 
woman,  for  she  had  a  beard  all  over  her  face,  a  sur- 
prising, an  unexpected  beard,  growing  in  improbable 
tufts,  in  curly  bunches  which  looked  as  if  they  had 
been  sown  by  a  madman  over  that  great  face,  the 
face  of  a  gendarme  in  petticoats.  She  had  them  on 
her  nose,  under  her  nose,  round  her  nose,  on  her 
chin,  on  her  cheeks;  and  her  eyebrows,  which  were 
extraordinarily  thick  and  long,  and  quite  gray,  bushy 
and  bristling,  looked  exactly  like  a  pair  of  mustaches 
stuck  on  there  by  mistake. 

She  limped,  but  not  like  lame  people  generally  do, 
but  like  a  ship  pitching.  When  she  planted  her 
great,  bony,  vibrant  body  on  her  sound  leg,  she 
seemed  to  be  preparing  to  mount  some  enormous 
wave,  and  then  suddenly  she  dipped  as  if  to  disap- 
pear in  an  abyss,  and  byried  herself  in  the  ground. 
Her  walk  reminded  one  of  a  ship  in  a  storm,  and  her 
head,  which  was  always  covered  with  an  enormou? 
white  cap,  whose  ribbons  fluttered  down  her  back, 
seemed  to  traverse  the  horizon  from  North  to  South 
and  from  South  to  North,  at  each  limp. 

I  adored  Mothei  Bellflower.  As  soon  as  I  was  up 
I  used  to  go  into  the  linen-room,  where  1  found  her 
installed  at  work,  with  a  foot-warmer  under  her  feet. 
As  soon   as   I   arrived,  she  made   me  take  the  foot- 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  I49 

warmer  and   sit  upon   it,  so   that   I   might   not  catch 
cold  in  that  large.,  chilly  room  under  the  roof. 

"That  draws  the  blood  from  your  head,"  she  would 
say  to  me. 

She  told  me  stories,  while  mending  the  linen  with 
her  long,  crooked,  nimble  fingers;  behind  her  magni- 
fying spectacles,  for  age  had  impaired  her  sight,  her 
eyes  appeared  enormous  to  me,  strangely  profound, 
double. 

As  far  as  I  can  remember  from  the  things  which 
she  told  me  and  by  which  my  childish  heart  was 
moved,  she  had  the  large  heart  of  a  poor  wcman. 
She  told  me  what  had  happened  in  the  village,  how  a 
cow  had  escaped  from  the  cowhouse  and  had  been 
found  the  next  morning  in  front  of  Prosper  Malet's 
mill,  looking  at  the  sails  turning,  or  about  a  hen's 
egg  which  had  been  found  in  tl;e  church  belfry  with- 
out anyone  being  able  to  understand  what  creature 
had  been  there  to  "lay  it,  or  the  queer  story  of  Jean 
Pila's  dog,  who  had  gone  ten  leagues  to  bring  back 
his  master's  breeches  which  a  tramp  had  stolen  while 
they  were  hanging  up  to  dry  out  of  doors,  after  he 
had  been  caught  in  the  rain.  She  told  me  these  sim- 
ple adventures  in  such  a  manner  that  m  my  mind 
they  assumed  the  proportions  of  ncver-to-be-forgottcn 
dramas,  of  grand  and  mysterious  poems;  and  the 
ingenious  stories  invented  by  the  poets,  which  my 
mother  told  me  in  the  evening,  had  none  of  the 
flavor,  none  of  the  fullness  or  of  the  vigor  of  the 
peasant  woman's  narratives. 

Well,  one  Thursday  when  1  had  spent  all  the  morn- 
ing in  listening  to  Mother  Clochette,  I  wanted  to  go 
upstairs   to   her   again   during   the   day,   after   pickmg 


150  BELI.FLOWER 

hazelnuts  with  the  manservant  in  the  wood  behind 
the  farm.  I  remember  it  ail  as  clearly  as  what  hap- 
pened only  yesterday. 

On  opening  the  door  of  the  linen-room,  1  saw  the 
old  seamstress  lying  on  the  floor  by  the  side  of  her 
chair,  her  face  turned  down  and  her  arms  stretched 
out,  but  still  holding  her  needle  in  one  hand  and 
one  of  my  shirts  in  the  other.  One  of  her  legs 
in  a  blue  stocking,  the  longer  one  no  doubt,  was 
extended  under  her  chair,  and  her  spectacles  glis- 
tened by  the  wall,  where  they  had  rolled  away  from 
her. 

I  ran  away  uttering  shrill  cries.  They  all  came 
running,  and  in  a  few  minutes  1  was  told  that  Mother 
Clochette  was  dead. 

I  cannot  describe  the  profound,  poignant,  terrible, 
emotion  which  stirred  my  childish  heart.  1  went 
slowly  down  into  the  drawing-room  and  hid  myself 
in  a  dark  corner,  in  the  depths  of  a  great,  old  arm- 
chair, where  I  knelt  and  wept.  I  remained  there  for 
a  long  time  no  doubt,  for  night  came  on.  Suddenly 
someone  came  in  with  a  lamp  —  without  seeing  me, 
however  —  and  1  heard  my  father  and  mother  talking 
v/;th  the  medical  man,  whose  voice  I  recognized. 

He  had  been  sent  for  immediately,  and  he  was 
explaining  the  cause  of  the  accident,  of  which  I  un- 
derstood nothing,  however.  Then  he  sat  down  and 
had  a  glass  of  liqueur  and  a  biscuit. 

He  went  on  talking,  and  what  he  then  said  will 
remain  engraved  on  my  mind  until  I  die!  1  think 
that  1  can  give  the  exact  words  which  he  used. 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "the  poor  woman!  she  broke  her 
leg  the  day  of  my  arrival  here.     I  had   not   even   had 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  151 

time  to  wash  my  hands  after  getting  off  the  dili- 
gence before  I  was  sent  for  in  ail  haste,  for  it  was  a 
bad  case,  very  bad. 

"She  was  seventeen,  and  a  pretty  girl,  very 
pretty!  Would  anyone  believe  it?  I  have  never  told 
her  story  before,  in  fact  no  one  but  myself  and  one 
other  person,  who  is  no  longer  living  in  this  part  of 
the  country,  ever  knew  it.  Now  that  she  is  dead,  I 
may  be  less  discreet. 

"A  young  assistant  teacher  had  just  come  to  live 
in  the  village;  he  was  good-looking  and  had  the  bear- 
ing of  a  soldier.  All  the  girls  ran  after  him,  but  he 
was  disdainful.  Besides  that,  he  was  very  much 
afraid  of  his  superior,  the  schoolmaster,  old  Grabu, 
who  occasionally  got  out  of  bed  the  wrong  foot 
first. 

"Old  Grabu  already  employed  pretty  Hortense, 
who  has  just  died  here,  and  who  was  afterward 
nicknamed  Clochette.  The  assistant  master  singled 
out  the  pretty  young  girl,  who  was  no  doubt  flat- 
tered at  being  chosen  by  this  disdainful  conqueror; 
at  any  rate,  she  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  he  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  her  to  give  him  a  first  meeting 
in  the  hayloft  behind  the  school,  at  night,  after  she 
had  done  her  day's  sewing. 

"She  pretended  to  go  home,  but  instead  of  going 
downstairs  when  she  left  the  Grabus',  she  went  up- 
stairs and  hid  among  the  hay,  to  wait  for  her  lover. 
He  soon  joined  her,  and  he  was  beginning  to  say 
pretty  things  to  her,  when  the  door  of  the  hayloft 
opened  and  the  schoolmaster  appeared,  and  asked: 
'What  are  you  doing  up  there,  Sigisbert  ? '  Feeling 
sure    that    he    would    be    caught,    the    young    school- 


152  BELLFLOWER 

master  lost  hi"-,  presence  of  mind  and  replied  stupidly: 
'I  came  up  here  to  rest  a  little  among  the  bundles  of 
hfly,  Monsieur  Grabu.' 

"Tile  loft  was  very  large  and  absolutely  dark. 
Sigisbert  pusiied  tlie  frightened  girl  to  the  further  end 
and  said:  'Go  there  and  hide  yourself.  1  shall  lose 
my  situation,  so  get  away  and  hide  yourself/ 

"  When  the  schoolmaster  heard  the  whispering,  he 
continued:     'Why,  you  are  not  by  yourself?' 

"'Yes  1  am,  Monsieur  Grabu!' 

*' '  But  you  are  not,  for  you  are  talking.' 

"  *  1  swear  1  am,  Monsieur  Grabu.' 

"'1  will  soon  find  out,'  the  old  man  replied,  and 
double-locking  the  door,  he  went  down  to  get  a 
light. 

"Then  the  young  man,  who  was  a  coward  such 
as  one  sometimes  .meets,  lost  his  head,  and  he  re- 
peated, having  grown  furious  all  of  a  sudden:  'Hide 
yourself,  so  that  he  may  not  find  you.  You  will  de- 
prive me  of  my  L-read  for  my  whole  life;  you  will 
ruin  my  whole  career!     Do  hide  yourself!' 

"They  could  hear  the  key  turning  in  the  lock 
again,  and  Hortense  ran  to  the  window  which  looked 
out  on  to  the  street,  opened  it  quickly,  and  then  in 
a  low  and  determined  voice  said:  'You  will  come 
and  pick  me  up  when  he  is  gone,'  and  she  jumped 
out. 

"Old  Grabu  found  nobody,  and  went  dov/n  again 
in  great  surprise.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  later.  Mon- 
sieur Sigisbert  came  to  me  and  related  his  adventure. 
The  girl  had  remained  at  the  foot  of  the  wall  unable 
to  get  up,  as  she  hiid  follen  from  the  second  story, 
and  I  went  with  him  to  fetch  hen     It  was  raining  in 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  15^ 

torrents,  and  I  brought  the  unfortunate  girl  honr 
with  me,  for  the  right  leg  was  broken  in  three  places, 
and  the  bones  had  come  out  through  the  flesh.  She 
did  not  complain,  and  merely  said,  with  admirable 
resignation:     'I  am  punished,  well  punished!' 

"1  sent  for  assistance  and  for  the  workgirl's 
friends  and  told  them  a  made-up  story  of  a  runaway 
carriage  which  had  knocked  her  down  and  lamed 
her,  outside  my  door.  They  believed  me,  and  the 
gendarmes  for  a  whole  month  tried  in  vain  to  find 
the  author  of  this  accident. 

"That  is  all!  Now  1  say  that  this  woman  was  a 
heroine,  and  had  the  fiber  of  those  who  accomplish 
the  grandest  deeds  in  history. 

"That  was  her  only  love  aiYair,  and  she  died  a 
virgin.  She  was  a  martyr,  a  noble  soul,,  a  sublimely 
devoted  woman!  And  if  1  did  not  absolutely  admire 
her,  I  should  not  have  told  you  this  story,  which  I 
would  never  tell  anyone  during  her  life:  you  under- 
stand why." 

The  doctor  ceased;  mamma  cried  and  papa  said 
some  words  which  1  did  not  catch;  then  they  left  the 
room,  and  1  remained  on  my  knees  in  the  armchair 
and  sobbed,  while  1  heard  a  strange  noise  of  heavy 
footsteps  and  something  knocking  against  the  side  of 
the  staircase. 

They  were  carrying  away  Clochette's  body. 


WHO    KNOWS? 


Y  God!     ?vly   God!     I   am   going  to 
write  down  at   last  what   has  hap- 
pened   to    me.      But    how    can   I  ? 
How    dare    I  ?      The    thing    is    so 
bizarre,    so  inexplicable,    so   incom- 
prehensible, so  silly! 

if  I  were  not  perfectly  sure  of 
v/hat  1  have  seen,  sure  that  there  was 
'*'  not  in  my  reasoning  any  defect,  any 
error  in  my  declarations,  any  lacuna  in 
the  inflexible  sequence  of  my  observa- 
tions, 1  should  believe  myself  to  be  the 
dupe  of  a  simple  hallucination,  the  sport  of 
a  singular  vision.  After  all,  who  kaows? 
Yesterday  I  was  in  a  private  asylum,  but  I  went 
there  voluntarily,  out  of  prudence  and  fear.  Only  one 
single  human  being  knows  my  history,  and  that  is 
the  doctor  of  the  said  asylum.  1  am  going  to  write 
to  him.  I  really  do  not  know  why?  To  disembarrass 
myself?  Yea,  1  feel  as  though  weighed  down  by  an 
intolerable  nightmare. 
Let  me  explain. 
(^54) 


WHO   KNOV/S?  155 

I  have  cilways  been  a  recluse,  a  dreamer,  a  kind  of 
Isolated  philosophci.  easy-going,  content  with  but  lit- 
tle, harboring  ill-feeling  against  no  man,  and  without 
even  a  grudge  against  heaven.  I  have  constantly 
lived  alone;  consequentlv,  a  kind  of  torture  takes  hold 
of  me  when  I  fmd  myself  in  the  presence  of  others. 
How  is  this  to  be  explained.^  I  do  not  know.  I  am 
not  averse  to  going  out  into  the  world,  to  conversa- 
tion, to  dining  with  friends,  but  when  they  are  near 
me  for  any  length  of  time,  even  the  most  intimate  of 
them,  they  bore  me,  fatigue  me,  enervate  me,  and  I 
experience  an  overwhelming,  torturing  desire  to  see 
them  get  up  and  go,  to  take  themselves  away,  and  to 
leave  me  by  myself. 

That  desire  is  more  than  a  craving;  it  is  an  ir- 
resistible necessity.  And  if  the  presence  of  people 
with  whom  I  fmd  myself  were  to  be  continued;  if  I 
were  compelled,  not  only  to  listen,  but  also  to  follow, 
for  any  length  of  time,  their  conversation,  a  serious 
accident  would  assuredly  take  place.  What  kind  of 
accident  ?  Ah !  who  knows  ?  Perhaps  a  slight  par- 
alytic stroke.^     Probably! 

I  like  solitude  so  much  that  I  cannot  even  endure 
the  vicinage  of  other  beings  sleeping  under  the  same 
roof.  1  cannot  live  in  Paris,  because  there  I  suffer 
the  most  acute  agony.  I  lead  a  moral  life,  and  am 
therefore  tortured  in  body  and  in  nerves  by  that  im- 
mense crowd  which  swarms  and  lives  even  when  it 
sleeps.  Ah!  the  sleeping  of  others  is  more  painful 
still  than  their  conversation.  And  1  can  never  find 
repose  when  I  know  and  feci  that  on  the  other  side 
of  a  wall  several  existences  are  undergoing  these  reg- 
ular eclipses  of  reason. 


156  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Why  am  I  thus?  Who  knows?  The  cause  of  it 
is  very  simple  perhaps.  I  get  tired  very  soon  of 
everything  that  does  not  emanate  from  me.  And 
there  arc  many  people  in  similar  case. 

We  are,  on  earth,  two  distinct  races.  Those  who 
have  need  of  others,  whom  others  amuse,  engage 
soothe,  whom  solitude  harasses,  pains,  stupefies,  like 
the  movement  of  a  terrible  glacier  or  the  traversing 
of  the  desert;  and  those,  on  the  contrary,  whom 
others  weary,  tire,  bore,  silently  torture,  whom  isola- 
tion calms  and  bathes  in  the  repose  of  independency, 
and  plunges  into  the  humors  of  their  own  thoughts. 
In  fine,  there  is  here  a  normal,  physical  phenomenon. 
Some  are  constituted  to  live  a  life  outside  of  them.« 
selves,  others,  to  live  a  life  within  themselves.  As 
for  me,  my  exterior  associations  are  abruptly  and 
painfully  short-lived,  and,  as  they  reach  their  limits,  I 
experience  in  my  whole  body  and  in  my  whole  intel- 
ligence an  intolerable  uneasiness. 

As  a  result  of  this,  I  became  attached,  or  rather 
had  become  much  attached,  to  inanimate  objects, 
v/hich  have  for  me  the  importance  of  beings,  and  my 
house  has  or  had  become  a  world  in  which  I  lived 
an  active  and  solitary  life,  surrounded  by  all  manner 
of  things,  furniture,  familiar  knickknacks,  as  sympa- 
thetic in  my  eyes  as  the  visages  of  human  beings.  I 
had  filled  my  mansion  with  them;  little  by  little,  I  had 
adorned  it  with  them,  and  I  felt  an  inward  content 
and  satisfaction,  was  more  happy  than  if  1  had  been 
in  the  arms  of  a  beloved  girl,  whose  wonted  caresses 
had  become  a  soothing  and  delightful  necessity. 

I  had  had  this  house  constructed  in  the  center  of 
a  beautiful  garden,  which  hid  it  from  the  public  high- 


WHO   KNOWS?  157' 

ways,  and  which  was  near  the  entrance  to  a  city 
where  I  could  find,  on  occasion,  the  resources  of 
society,  for  which,  at  moments,  I  had  a  longing. 
All  my  domestics  slept  in  a  separate  building,  which 
was  situated  at  some  considerable  distance  from  my 
house,  at  the  far  end  of  the  kitchen  garden,  which 
m  turn  was  surrounded  by  a  high  wall.  The  ob- 
scure envelopment  of  night,  in  the  silence  of  my 
concealed  habitation,  buried  under  the  leaves  of  great 
trees,  was  so  reposeful  and  so  dehcious,  that  before 
retiring  to  my  couch  I  lingered  every  evening  for 
several  hours  in  order  to  enjoy  the  solitude  a  little 
longer. 

One  day  "Signad"  had  been  played  at  one  of  the 
city  theaters.  It  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  listened 
to  that  beautiful,  musical,  and  fairy-like  drama,  and  I 
had  derived  from  it  the  liveliest  pleasures. 

I  returned  home  on  foot  with  a  light  step,  my  head 
full  of  sonorous  phrases,  and  my  mind  haunted  by 
delightful  visions.  It  was  night,  the  dead  of  night, 
and  so  dark  that  I  could  hardly  distinguish  the  broad 
highway,  and  consequently  I  stumbled  into  the  ditch 
more  than  once.  From  the  custom-house,  at  the  bar- 
riers, to  my  house,  was  about  a  mile,  perhaps  a  little 
more  —  a  leisurely  walk  of  about  twenty  minutes.  It 
was  one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  one  o'clock  or  maybe 
half-past  one;  the  sky  had  by  this  time  cleared  some- 
what and  the  crescent  appeared,  the  gloomy  crescent 
of  the  last  quarter  of  the  moon.  The  crescent  of  the 
first  quarter  is  that  which  rises  about  five  or  si>t 
o'clock  in  the  evening  and  is  clear,  gay,  and  fretted  with 
silver;  but  the  one  which  rises  after  midnight  is  red- 
dish, sadf  and  desolating  —  it  is  the  true  Sabbath  cres- 


158  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

cent.  Every  prowler  by  night  has  made  the  same 
observation.  The  first,  though  slender  as  a  thread, 
throws  a  faint,  joyous  light  which  rejoices  the  heart 
and  lines  the  ground  with  distinct  shadows;  the  last 
sheds  hardly  a  dying  glimmer,  and  is  so  wan  that  it 
occasions  hardly  any  shadows. 

In  the  distance,  1  perceived  the  somber  mass  of 
my  garden,  and,  I  know  not  why,  was  seized  with 
a  feeling  of  uneasiness  at  the  idea  of  going  inside.  I 
slackened  my  pace,  and  walked  very  softly,  the  thick 
cluster  of  trees  having  the  appearance  of  a  tomb  in 
which  my  house  was  buried. 

I  opened  my  outer  gate  and  entered  the  long 
avenue  of  sycamores  which  ran  in  the  direction  of 
the  house,  arranged  vault-wise  like  a  high  tunnel, 
traversing  opaque  masses,  and  winding  round  the  turf 
lawns,  on  which  baskets  of  flowers,  in  the  pale  dark- 
ness, could  be  indistinctly  discerned. 

While  approaching  the  house,  I  was  seized  by  a 
strange  feeling.  I  could  hear  nothing,  I  stood  still. 
Through  the  trees  there  was  not  even  a  breath  of  air 
stirring.  "What  is  the  matter  with  me?"  I  said  to 
myself.  For  ten  years  1  had  entered  and  re-entered 
in  the  same  way,  without  ever  experiencing  the  least 
inquietude.  1  never  had  any  fear  at  nights.  The 
sight  of  a  man,  a  marauder,  or  a  thief  would  have 
thrown  me  into  a  fit  of  anger,  and  I  would  have 
rushed  at  him  without  any  hesitation.  Moreover,  I 
was  armed  —  I  had  my  revolver.  But  I  did  not  touch 
it,  for  I  was  anxious  to  resist  that  feeling  of  dread 
with  which  I  was  seized. 

What  was  it?  Was  it  a  presentiment  —  that  mys- 
terious presentiment  which   takes   hold  of  the   senses 


WHO   KNOWS?  159 

of  men  who  have  witnessed  something  which,  to 
them,  is  inexplicable?     Perhaps?    Who  knows? 

In  proportion  as  I  advanced,  I  felt  my  skin  quiver 
more  and  more,  and  when  I  was  close  to  the  wall, 
near  the  outhouses  of  my  large  residence,  I  felt  that 
it  would  be  necessary  for  me  to  wait  a  few  minutes 
before  opening  the  door  and  going  inside.  I  sat 
down,  then,  on  a  bench,  under  the  windows  of  my 
drawing-room.  1  rested  there,  a  little  disturbed,  with 
my  head  leaning  against  the  wall,  my  eyes  wide  open, 
under  the  shade  of  the  foliage.  For  the  first  few 
minutes,  I  did  not  observe  anything  unusual  around 
me;  I  had  a  humming  noise  in  fuy  ears,  but  that  has 
happened  often  to  me.  Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me 
that  I  heard  trains  passing,  that  I  heard  clocks  strik- 
ing, that  I  heard  a  multitude  on  the  march. 

Very  soon,  those  humming  noises  became  more 
distinct,  more  concentrated,  more  determinable,  1  was 
deceiving  myself  It  was  not  the  ordinary  tingling  of 
my  arteries  which  transmitted  to  my  ears  these  rum- 
bling sounds,  but  it  was  a  very  distinct,  though  con- 
fused, noise  which  came,  without  any  doubt  whatever, 
from  the  interior  of  my  house.  Through  the  walls  J 
distinguished  this  continued  noise, —  1  should  rather 
say  agitation  than  noise, —  an  indistinct  moving  about 
of  a  pile  of  things,  as  if  people  were  tossing  about, 
displacing,  and  carrying  away  surreptitiously  all  my 
furniture. 

I  doubted,  however,  for  some  considerable  time 
yet,  the  evidence  of  my  ears.  But  having  placed  my 
ear  against  one  of  the  outhouses,  the  better  to  dis- 
cover what  this  strange  disturbance  was,  inside  my 
house,   I   became   convinced,    certain,    that   something 


l6o  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

was  taking  place  in  my  residence  which  v/as  a!l.O' 
gether  abnormal  and  incomprehensible.  I  had  no 
fear,  but  I  was  —  how  shall  I  express  it  —  paralyzed 
by  astonishment.  I  did  not  draw  my  revolver, 
knowing  very  well  that  there  was  no  need  of  my 
doing  so. 

I  listened  a  long  time,  but  could  come  to  no  reso- 
lution, my  mind  being  quite  clear,  though  in  myself 
I  was  naturally  anxious.  1  got  up  and  waited,  listen- 
ing always  to  the  noise,  which  gradually  increased, 
and  at  intervals  grew  very  loud,  and  which  seemed 
to  become  an  impatient,  angry  disturbance,  a  myste- 
rious  commotion. 

Then,  suddenly,  ashamed  of  my  timidity,  I  seized 
my  bunch  of  keys.  1  selected  the  one  I  wanted, 
guided  it  into  the  lock,  turned  it  twice,  and  pushing 
the  door  with  all  my  might,  sent  it  banging  against 
the  partition. 

The  collision  sounded  like  the  report  of  a  gun,  and 
there  responded  to  that  explosive  noise,  from  roof  to 
basement  ot  my  residence,  a  formidable  tumult.  It 
was  so  sudden,  so  terrible,  so  deafening,  that  I  re- 
coiled a  few  steps,  and  though  I  knew  it  to  be 
wholly  useless,  I  pulled  my  revolver  out  of  its 
case. 

I  continued  to  listen  for  some  time  longer.  I  could 
distinguish  now  an  extraordinary  p^attcring  upon  the 
steps  of  my  grand  staircase,  on  the  waxed  floors,  on 
the  carpets,  not  of  boots,  or  of  naked  feet,  but  of 
iron  and  wooden  crutches,  which  resounded  like 
cymbals.  Then  I  suddenly  discerned,  on  the  thresh- 
old of  my  door,  an  armchair,  my  large  reading 
easy-chair,  which  set  off  waddling.      It  went  away 


WHO   KNOWS?  iCi 

through  my  garden.  Others  followed  it,  those  of  my 
drawing-room,  then  my  sofas,  dragging  themselves 
along  like  crocodiles  on  their  short  paws;  then  all 
my  chairs,  bounding  like  goats,  and  the  little  foot- 
stools, hopping  like  rabbits. 

Oh!  what  a  sensation!  1  slunk  back  into  a  clump 
of  bushes  where  I  remained  crouched  up,  watching, 
meanwhile,  my  furniture  defile  past  —  for  everything 
walked  away,  the  one  behind  the  other,  briskly  or 
slowly,  according  to  its  weight  or  size.  My  piano, 
my  grand  piano,  bounded  past  with  the  gallop  of  a 
horse  and  a  murmur  of  music  in  its  sides;  the 
smaller  articles  slid  along  the  gravel  like  snails,  my 
brushes,  crystal,  cups  and  saucers,  which  glistened 
in  the  moonlight.  I  saw  my  writing  desk  appear,  a 
rare  curiosity  of  the  last  century,  which  contained  all 
the  letters  I  had  ever  received,  all  the  history  of  my 
heart,  an  old  history  from  which  I  have  suffered  so 
much!  Besides,  there  were  inside  of  it  a  great  many 
cherished  photographs. 

Suddenly  —  I  no  longer  had  any  fear — 1  threw 
myself  on  it,  seized  it  as  one  would  seize  a  thief,  as 
one  would  seize  a  wife  about  to  run  away;  but  it 
pursued  its  irresistible  course,  and  despite  my  efforts 
and  despite  my  anger,  I  could  not  even  retard  its 
pace.  As  I  was  resisting  in  desperation  that  insuper- 
able force,  I  was  thrown  ta  the  ground.  It  then 
rolled  me  over,  trailed  me  along  the  gravel,  and  the 
rest  of  my  furniture,  which  followed  it,  began  to 
march  over  mc,  tramping  on  my  legs  and  injuring 
them.  When  1  loosed  my  hold,  other  articles  had  passed 
over  my  body,  just  as  a  charge  of  cavalry  does  over 
the  body  of  a  dismounted  soldier, 
Mfiup.  I — 11 


l62  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Seized  at  last  with  terror,  I  succeeded  in  drag- 
ging myself  out  of  the  main  avenue,  and  in  conceal- 
ing myself  again  among  the  shrubbery,  so  as  to 
watch  the  disappearance  of  the  most  cherished  ob- 
jects, the  smallest,  the  least  striking,  the  least  unknown 
which  had  once  belonged  to  me. 

I  then  heard,  in  the  distance,  noises  which  came 
from  my  apartments,  which  sounded  now  as  if  the 
house  were  empty,  a  loud  noise  of  shutting  of  doors. 
They  were  being  slammed  from  top  to  bottom  of  my 
dwelling,  even  the  door  which  I  had  just  opened 
myself  unconsciously,  and  which  had  closed  of  itself, 
when  the  last  thing  had  taken  its  departure.  I  took 
flight  also,  running  toward  the  city,  and  only  re- 
gained my  self-composure,  on  reaching  the  boulevards, 
where  I  met  belated  people.  1  rang  the  bell  of  a 
hotel  were  1  was  known.  1  had  knocked  the  dust 
off  my  clothes  with  my  hands,  and  1  told  the  porter 
that  I  had  lost  my  bunch  of  keys,  which  included 
also  that  to  the  kitchen  garden,  where  my  servants 
slept  in  a  house  standing  by  itself,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  wall  of  the  inclosure  which  protected  my 
fruits  and  vegetables  from  the  raids  of  marauders. 

I  covered  myself  up  to  the  eyes  in  the  bed  which 
was  assigned  to  me,  but  could  not  sleep;  and  I 
waited  for  the  dawn  listening  to  the  throbbing  of  my 
heart.  I  had  given  orders  that  my  servants  were  to 
be  surnmoned  to  the  hotel  at  daybreak,  and  my  valet 
de  chambre  knocked  at  my  door  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning. 

His  countenance  bore  a  woeful  look. 

"A  great  misfortune  has  happened  during  the 
night,  Monsieur,"  said  he. 


WHO  KNOWS?  l6^ 

"What  is  it?" 

"Somebody  has  stolen  the  whole  of  Monsieur's 
furniture,  all,  everything,  even  to  the  smallest  arti- 
cles." 

This  news  pleased  me.  Why  ?  Who  knows  ?  I 
was  complete  master  of  myself,  bent  on  dissimula- 
ting, on  telling  no  one  of  anything  1  had  seen;  deter- 
mined on  concealing  and  in  burying  in  my  heart  of 
hearts    a  terrible  secret.     I  responded: 

"They  must  then  be  the  same  people  who  have 
stolen  my  keys.  The  police  must  be  informed  im- 
mediately. I  am  going  to  get  up,  and  I  will  join 
you  in  a  few  moments." 

The  investigation  into  the  circumstances  under 
which  the  robbery  might  have  been  committed  lasted 
lor  five  months.  Nothing  was  found,  not  even  the 
smallest  of  my  knickknacks,  nor  the  least  trace  of  the 
thieves.  Good  gracious!  If  I  had  only  told  them 
what  I  knew —  If  I  had  said  —  I  should  have  been 
locked  up  —  1,  not  the  thieves  —  for  I  was  the  only 
person  who  had  seen  everything  from  the  first. 

Yes!  but  1  knew  how  to  keep  silence.  I  shall 
never  refurnish  my  house.  That  were  indeed  useless. 
The  same  thing  would  happen  again.  I  had  no 
desire  even  to  re-enter  the  house,  and  I  did  not 
re-enter  it;  1  never  visited  it  again.  I  moved  to  Paris, 
to  the  hotel,  and  consulted  doctors  in  regard  to  the 
condition  of  my  nerves,  which  had  disquieted  me  a 
good  deal  ever  since  that  awful  night. 

They  advised  me  to  travel,  and  I  followed  their 
counsel. 


1 64  WORKS  OF  GUY  DB  MAUPASSANT 


11 


I  began  by  making  an  excursion  into  Italy,  The 
sunsiiine  did  me  much  good.  For  six  months  I  wan- 
dered about  from  Genoa  to  Venice,  from  Venice  to 
Florence,  from  Florence  to  Rome,  from  Rome  to 
Naples.  Then  I  traveled  over  Sicily,  a  country  cele- 
brated for  its  scenery  and  its  monuments,  relics  left 
by  the  Greeks  and  the  Normans.  Passing  over  into 
Africa,  I  traversed  at  my  ease  that  immense  desert, 
yellow  and  tranquil,  in  which  camels,  gazelles,  and 
Arab  vagabonds  roa.m  about  —  where,  in  the  rare  and 
transparent  atmosphere,  there  hover  no  vague  haunt- 
ings,  where  there  is  never  any  night,  but  always  day. 

I  returned  to  France  by  Marseilles,  and  in  spite  of 
all  its  Provencal  gaiety,  the  diminished  clearness  of 
the  sky  made  me  sad.  I  experienced,  in  returning  to 
the  Continent,  the  peculiar  sensation  of  an  illness 
v/hich  1  believed  had  been  cured,  and  a  dull  pain 
which  predicted  that  the  seeds  of  the  disease  had 
not  been  eradicated. 

I  then  returned  to  Paris.  At  the  end  of  a  month 
I  was  very  dejected.  It  was  in  the  autumn,  and  ) 
determined  to  make,  before  winter  came,  an  excursion 
through  Normandy,  a  country  with  which  I  was  un- 
acquainted. 

I  began  my  journey,  in  the  best  of  spirits,  av' 
Rouen,  and  for  eight  days  1  wandered  about,  passive, 
ravished,  and  enthusiastic,  in  that  ancient  city,  that 
astonishing  museum  of  extraordinary  Gothic  monu- 
ments. 


WHO   KNOWS?  165 

But  one  afternoon,  about  four  o'clock,  as  I  was 
sauntering  slowly  through  a  seemingly  unattractive 
street,  by  which  there  ran  a  stream  as  black  as  the 
ink  called  "Eau  de  Robec,"  my  attention,  fixed  for 
the  moment  on  the  quaint,  antique  appearance  of 
some  of  the  houses,  was  suddenly  attracted  by  the 
view  of  a  series  of  second-hand  furniture  shops, 
which  followed  one  another,  door  after  door. 

Ah!  they  had  carefully  chosen  their  locality,  these 
sordid  traffickers  in  antiquities,  in  that  quaint  little 
street,  overlooking  the  sinister  stream  of  water,  under 
those  tile  and  slate-pointed  roofs  on  which  still 
grinned  the  vanes  of  bygone  days. 

At  the  end  of  these  grim  storehouses  you  saw 
piled  up  sculptured  chests,  Rouen,  Sevres,  and 
Moustier's  pottery,  painted  statues,  others  of  oak, 
Christs,  Virgins,  Saints,  church  ornaments,  chasubles, 
capes,  even  sacred  vases,  and  an  old  gilded  wooden 
tabernacle,  where  a  god  had  hidden  himself  away. 
What  singular  caverns  there  are  in  those  lofty  houses, 
crowded  with  objects  of  every  description,  where  the 
existence  of  things  seems  to  be  ended,  things  which 
have  survived  their  original  possessors,  their  century, 
their  times,  their  fashions,  in  order  to  be  bought  as 
curiosities  by  new  generations. 

My  affection  for  antiques  was  awakened  in  that 
city  of  antiquaries.  I  went  from  shop  to  shop,  cross- 
ing in  two  strides,  the  rotten  four  plank  bridges 
thrown  over  the  nauseous  current  of  the  "Eau  de 
Robec." 

Heaven  protect  me!  What  a  shock!  At  the  end 
of  a  vault,  which  was  crowded  with  articles  of  every 
description  and  v/hich   seemed   to  be  the   entrance  to 


l66  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

the  catacombs  of  a  cemetery  of  ancient  furniture,  ! 
suddenly  descried  one  of  my  most  beautiful  ward- 
robes. I  approached  it,  trembling  m  every  limb, 
trembling  to  such  an  extent  that  I  dared  not  touch  it. 
!  put  forth  my  hand,  I  hesitated.  Nevertheless  it 
was  indeed  my  wardrobe;  a  unique  wardrobe  of  the 
time  of  Louis  XIII.,  recognizable  by  anyone  who  had 
seen  it  only  once.  Casting  my  eyes  suddenly  a  little 
farther,  toward  the  more  somber  depths  of  the  gal- 
lery, I  perceived  three  of  my  tapestry  covered  chairs; 
and  farther  on  still,  my  two  Henry  II.  tables,  such 
rare  treasures  that  people  came  all  the  way  from 
Paris  to  see  them. 

Think!  only  think  in  what  a  state  of  mind  I  now 
was!  I  advanced,  haltingly,  quivering  with  emotion, 
but  I  advanced,  for  I  am  brave  —  I  advanced  like  a 
knight  of  the  dark  ages. 

At  every  step  I  found  something  that  belonged  to 
me;  my  brushes,  my  books,  my  tables,  my  silks,  my 
arms,  everything,  except  the  bureau  full  of  my  letters, 
and  that  I  could  not  discover. 

1  walked  on,  descending  to  the  dark  galleries,  in 
order  to  ascend  next  to  the  floors  above.  I  was 
alone;  I  called  out,  nobody  answered,  I  was  alone; 
there  was  no  one  in  that  house  —  a  house  as  vast 
and  tortuous  as  a   labyrinth. 

Night  came  on,  and  I  was  compelled  to  sit  down 
in  the  darkness  on  one  of  my  own  chairs,  for  I  liad 
no  desire  to  go  away.  From  time  to  time  I  shouted, 
"Hallo,  hallo,  somebody." 

I  had  sat  there,  certainly,  for  more  than  an  hour 
when  I  heard  steps,  steps  soft  and  slow,  I  knew  not 
where.     I    was    unable   to    locate   them,  but    bracing 


WHO   KNOWS?  167 

myself  up,  I  called  out  anew,  whereupon  I  perceived 
a  glimmer  of  light  in  the  next  chamber. 

"Who  is  there?"  said  a  voice. 

"A  buyer,"  i  responded. 

"It  is  too  late  to,  enter  thus  into  a  shop." 

"I  have  been  waiting  for  you  for  more  than  an 
"hour,"  I  answered. 

"You  can  come  back  to-morrow." 

"To-morrow  I  must  quit  Rouen." 

I  dared  not  advance,  and  he  did  not  come  to  me. 
1  saw  always  the  glimmer  of  his  light,  which  was 
shining  on  a  tapestry  on  which  were  two  angels  fly- 
ing over  the  dead  on  a  field  of  battle.  It  belonged 
to  mie  also.     I  said: 

"Well,  comie  here." 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  he  answered. 

I  got  up  and  went  toward  him. 

Standing  in  the  center  of  a  large  room,  was  a 
little  man,  very  short,  and  very  f^it,  phenomenally 
fat,  a  hideous  phenomenon. 

He  had  a  singular  straggling  beard,  white  and 
yellow,  and  not  a  hair  on  his   head  —  not  a  hair! 

As  he  held  his  candle  afoft  at  arm's  length  in 
order  to  see  mc,  his  cranium  appeared  to  me  to  re- 
semble a  little  moon,  in  that  vast  chamber  encum- 
bered with  old  furniture.  His  features  were  wrinkled 
ard  blown,  and  his  eyes  could  not  be  seen. 

I  bought  three  chairs  which  belonged  to  myself, 
and  paid  at  once  a  large  sum  for  them,  giving  him 
merely  the  number  of  my  room  at  the  hotel.  They 
were  to  be  delivered  the  next  day  before  nine  o'clock. 

I  then  started  off.  He  conducted  me,  with  much 
politeness,  as  far  as  the  doon 


1 68  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

I  immediately  repaired  to  the  coinmissaire's  office 
at  the  central  police  depot,  and  told  the  comrnissaire 
of  the  robbery  v/hich  had  been  perpetrated  and  of 
the  discovery  I  had  just  made.  He  required  time  to 
communicate  by  telegraph  with  the  authorities  who 
had  originally  charge  of  the  case,  for  information, 
and  he  begged  me  to  wait  in  his  office  until  an  an- 
swer came  back.  An  hour  later,  an  answer  came 
back,  which  was  in  accord  with  my  statements. 

"I  am  going  to  arrest  and  interrogate  this  man, 
at  once,"  he  said  to  me,  "for  he  may  have  conceived 
some  sort  of  suspicion,  and  smuggled  away  out  of 
sight  what  belongs  to  you.  Will  you  go  and  dine 
and  return  in  two  hours:  I  shall  then  have  the  man 
here,  and  I  shall  subject  him  to  a  fresh  interrogation 
in  your  presence." 

"Most  gladly,  Monsieur.  I  thank  you  with  my 
whole  heart." 

I  went  to  dine  at  my  hotel  and  I  ate  better  than 
I  could  have  believed.  I  was  quite  happy  now, 
thinking  that  man  was  in  the  hand:;  of  the  police. 

Two  hours  later  1  returned  to  the  office  of  the 
police  functionary,  who  was  waiting  for  me. 

"Well,  Monsieur,"  said  he,  on  perceiving  me, 
"we  have  not  been  able  to  find  your  man.  My 
agents  cannot  put  their  hands  on  liim." 

Ah!  I  felt  my  heart  sinking. 

"But  you  have  at  least  found  his  house?"  I 
asked, 

"Yes,  certainly;  and  what  is  more,  it  is  now  be- 
ing watched  and  guarded  until  his  return.  As  for 
him,  he  has  disappeared." 

"Disappeared?" 


WHO  KNOY.'S?  169 

'*Yes,  disappeared.  He  ordinarily  passes  his  even- 
ings at  the  house  of  a  female  neighbor,  who  is  also 
a  furniture  broker,  a  queer  sort  of  sorceress,  the 
widow  Bidoin.  She  has  not  seen  him  this  evening 
and  cannot  give  any  information  in  regard  to  him. 
We  must  wait  until  to-morrow." 

I  went  away.  Ah!  how  sinister  the  streets  of 
Rouen  seemed  to  me,  now  troubled  and  haunted! 

I  slept  so  badly  that  I  had  a  fit  of  nightmare 
every  time  1  went  off  to  sleep. 

As  !  did  not  wish  to  appear  too  restless  or  eager, 
I  waited  till  ten  o'clock  the  next  day  before  reporting 
myself  to  the  police. 

The  merchant  had  not  reappeared.  His  shop  re- 
mained closed. 

The  commissary  said  to  me: 

"1  have  taken  all  the  necessary  steps.  The  court 
has  been  made  acquainted  with  the  affair.  We  shall 
go  together  to  that  shop  and  have  it  opened,  and  you 
shall  point  out  to  me  all  that  belongs  to  you." 

We  drove  there  in  a  cab.  Police  agents  were 
stationed  round  the  building;  there  was  a  locksmith, 
too,  and  the  door  of  the  shop  was  soon  opened. 

On  entering,  1  could  not  discover  my  wardrobes, 
my  chairs,  my  tables;  1  saw  nothing,  nothing  of  that 
which  had  furnished  my  house,  no,  nothing,  although 
on  the  previous  evening,  I  could  not  take  a  step  with- 
out encountering  something  that  belonged  to  me. 

The  chief  commissary,  much  astonished,  regarded 
me  at  first  with  suspicion. 

-My  God,  Monsieur,"  said  I  to  him,  "the  disap- 
pearance of  these  articles  of  furniture  coincides 
Strangely  with  that  of  the  merchant." 


170  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT;. 

He  laughed. 

"That  is  true.  You  did  wrong  in  buying  and 
paying  for  the  articles  which  were  your  own  prop- 
erty, yesterday.  It  was  that  which  gave  him  the 
cue." 

"What  seems  to  me  incompi-ehensible,"  I  replied, 
**is  that  all  the  places  that  were  occupied  by  my 
furniture  are  now  filled  by  other  furniture." 

"Oh!"  responded  the  commissary,  "he  has  had  all 
night,  and  has  no  doubt  been  assisted  by  accomplices. 
This  house  must  communicate  with  its  neighbors. 
But  have  no  fear,  Monsieur;  I  will  have  the  affair 
promptly  and  thoroughly  investigated.  The  brigand 
shall  not  escape  us  for  long,  seeing  that  we  are  in 
charge  of  the  den." 

******* 

Ah!  My  heart,  my  heart,  my  poor  heart,  how  it 
beats ! 

I  remained  a  fortnight  at  Rouen.  The  man  did 
not  return.  Heavens!  good  heavens!  That  man,  what 
was  it  that  could  have  frightened  and  surprised  him! 

But,  on  the  sixteenth  day,  early  in  the  m.orning,  1 
received  from  my  gardener,  now  the  keeper  of  my 
empty  and  pillaged  house,  the  following  strange  letter: 

*' Monsieur: 

"I  have  the  honor  to  inform  Monsieur  that  something  happened, 
the  evening  befote  last,  which  nobody  can  understand,  and  the  police 
no  more  than  the  rest  of  us.  The  whole  of  the  furniture  has  been 
returned,  not  one  piece  is  missing  —  everything  is  in  its  place,  up  to 
the  very  smallest  article.  The  house  is  now  the  same  in  every  re- 
spect as  it  was  before  the  robbery  took  place.  It  is  enough  to  make 
one  lose  one's  head.  The  thing  took  place  duiing  the  night  Fiiday  — 
Satuiday.     The  roads    are    dug  up  as    though    the  whole  fence   had 


WHO   KNOWS?  l-]! 

been   dragged  from   its   place  up  to  the   door.     The  same  thing  was 
ctiserved  the  day  after  the  disappearance  of  the  furniture. 

"We  are  anxiously  expecting  Monsieur,  whose  very  humble  and 
obedient  setvant,  I  am,  Phillipe  Raudin." 

"Ah!  no,  no,  ah!  never,  never,  ah!  no.  1  shall 
never  return  there!" 

I  took  the  letter  to  the  commissary  of  police. 

"It  is  a  very  clever  restitution,"  said  he.  "Let 
us  bury  the  hatchet.  We  shall  nip  tlie  man  one  of 
these  days." 

^  JjC  5|C  2jt  -{C  SS  o^ 

But  he  has  never  been  nipped.  No.  They  have 
not  nipped  him,  and  1  am  afraid  of  him  now,  as  of 
some  ferocious  animal  that  has  been  let  loose  behind 
me. 

Inexplicable!  It  is  inexplicable,  this  chimera  of 
a  moon-struck  skull!  We  shall  never  solve  or  com- 
prehend it.  1  shall  not  return  to  my  former  residence. 
What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  I  am  afraid  of  encoun- 
tering that  man  again,  and  1  shall  not  run  the  risk. 

And  even  if  he  returns,  if  he  takes  possession  of 
his  shop,  who  is  to  prove  that  my  furniture  was  on 
his  premises  ?  There  is  only  my  testimony  against 
him;  and  1  feel  that  that  is  not  above  suspicion. 

Ah!  no!  This  kind  of  existence  has  become  un- 
endurable. 1  have  not  been  able  to  guard  the  secret 
of  what  1  have  seen.  1  could  not  continue  to  live 
like  the  rest  of  the  world,  with  the  fear  upon  me 
that  those  scenes  might  be  re-enacted. 

So  1  have  come  to  consult  the  doctor  who  directs 
this  lunatic  asylum,  and  I  have   told    him    everything. 

After  questioning  me  for  a  long  time,  he  said  to 
me: 


173  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

*'WiII  you  consent,  Monsieur,  to  remain  here  for 
some  time?" 

"Most  willingly,  Monsieur." 

"You  have  some  means?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur." 

"Will  you  have  isolated  apartments?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur," 

"Would  you  care  to  receive  any  friends?" 

"No,  Monsieur,  no,  nobody.  The  man  from 
Rouen  might  take  it  mto  his  head  to  pursue  me 
here,  to  be  revenged  on  me." 

******* 

I  have  been  alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone,  for  three 
months.  I  am  growing  tranquil  by  degrees.  I  have 
no  longer  any  fears.  If  the  antiquary  should  become 
mad  .  .  .  and  if  he  should  be  brought  into  this 
asylum  !  Even  prisons  themselves  are  not  places  of 
security. 


THE    DEVIL 


r 


HE  peasant  was  standing  oppo- 
site the  doctor,  by  the  bedside 
of  the  dying  old  woman,  and 
she,  cahiily  resigned  and  quite  lucid, 
j^  looked  at  them  and  listened  to  their 
talking.  She  was  going  to  die,  and  she 
^'*  did  not  rebel  at  it,  for  her  life  was 
over  —  she  was  ninety-two. 
*•-  The  July  sun  streamed  in  at  the  win- 
dow and  through  the  open  door  and  cast 
its  hot  flames  on  to  the  uneven  brown  clay 
floor,  which  had  been  stamped  down  by  four 
,  generations  of  clodhoppers.  The  smell  of  the 
>  fields  came  in  also,  driven  by  the  brisk  wind, 
and  parched  by  the  noontide  heat.  The  grasshoppers 
chirped  themselves  hoarse,  filling  the  air  with  their 
shrill  noise,  like  that  of  the  wooden  crickets  which 
are  sold  to  children  at  fair  time. 

The  doctor  raised  his  voice  and  said:  "Honore, 
you  cannot  leave  your  mother  in  this  state;  she  may 
die  at  any  moment."  And  the  peasant,  in  great  dis- 
tress, replied:  "But  1  must  get  in  my  wheat,  for  it 
has  been  lying  on  the  ground  a  long  time,  and  the 
weather   is   just   right   for  it;   what  do  you  say  about 

(173) 


174  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

it,  mother?"  And  the  dying  woman,  still  possessed 
by  her  Norman  avariciousness,  replied  yes  with  her 
eyes  and  her  forehead,  and  so  urged  her  son  to  get 
in  his  wheat,  and  to  leave  her  to  die  alone.  But  the 
doctor  got  angry,  and  stamping  his  foot  he  said: 
"You  are  no  better  than  a  brute,  do  you  hear,  and  I 
will  not  allow  you  to  do  it.  Do  you  understand? 
And  if  you  must  get  in  your  wheat  to-day,  go  and 
fetch  Rapet's  wife  and  make  her  look  after  your 
mother.  I  will  have  it.  And  if  you  do  not  obey  me, 
I  will  let  you  die  like  a  dog,  when  you  are  ill  in 
your  turn;  do  you  hear  me?" 

The  peasant,  a  tall,  thin  fellow  with  slow  move- 
ments, who  was  tormented  by  indecision,  by  his  fear 
of  the  doctor  and  his  keen  love  of  saving,  hesitated, 
calculated,  and  stammered  out:  "How  much  does  La 
Rapet  charge  for  attending  sick  people?" 

"How  should  I  know?"  the  doctor  cried.  "That 
depends  upon  how  long  she  is  wanted  for.  Settle  it 
with  her,  by  Jove!  But  I  want  her  to  be  here  within 
an  hour,  do  you  hear." 

So  the  man  made  up  his  mind.  "I  will  go  for 
her,"  he  replied;  "don't  get  angry,  doctor."  And 
the  latter  left,  calling  out  as  he  went:  "Take  care, 
you  know,  for  I  do  not  joke  when  1  am  angry!" 
And  as  soon  as  they  were  alone,  the  peasant  turned 
to  his  mother,  and  said  in  a  resigned  voice:  "I  will 
go  and  fetch  La  Rapet,  as  the  man  will  have  it. 
Don't  go  off  while  I  am  away." 

And  he  went  out  in  his  turn. 

La  Rapet,  who  was  an  old  washerwoman,  watched 
the  dead  and  the  dying  of  the  neighborhood,  and  then, 


THE   DEVIL  175 

as  soon  as  she  had  sewn  her  customers  into  that 
Unen  cloth  from  which  they  would  emerge  no  more, 
she  went  and  took  up  her  irons  to  smooth  the  Wnen 
of  the  hving.  Wrinkled  like  a  last  year's  apple, 
spiteful,  envious,  avaricious  with  a  phenomenal  avarice, 
bent  double,  as  if  she  had  been  broken  in  half  across 
the  loins,  by  the  constant  movement  of  the  iron  over 
the  hnen.  one  might  have  said  that  she  had  a  kind  of 
m.onstrous  and  cynical  affection  for  a  death  struggle. 
She  never  spoke  of  anything  but  of  the  people  she 
had  seen  die,  of  the  various  kinds  of  deaths  at  which 
she  had  been  present,  and  she  related,  with  the 
grreatest  minuteness,  details  which  were  always  the 
same,  just  like  a  sportsman  talks  of  his  shots. 

When  Honore  Bontemps  entered  her  cottage,  he 
found  her  preparing  the  starch  for  the  collars  of  the 
village  women,  and  he  said:  "Good  evening;  I  hope 
you  are  pretty  well.  Mother  Rapet." 

She  turned  her  head  round  to  look  at  him  and 
said:     "Fairly  well,  fairly  well,  and  you?" 

"Oh  !  as  for  mc,  1  am  as  well  as  I  could  wish, 
but  my  mother  is  very  sick." 

"Your  mother.''" 

"Yes,  my  mother  !  " 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"She  is  going  to  turn  up  her  toes,  that's  what's 
the  matter  with  her  ! " 

The  old  woman  took  her  hands  out  of  the  water 
and  asked  with  sudden  sympathy:  "Is  she  as  bad 
as  all  that?" 

"The  doctor  says  she  will  not  last   till    morning." 

"Then  she  certainly  is  very  bad!"  Honore 
hesitated,  for   he  wanted   to   make   a  few  preliminary 


176  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

remarks  before  coming  to  his  proposal,  but  as  he 
could  hit  upon  nothing,  he  made  up  his  mind  sud- 
denly. 

"How  much  are  you  going  to   ask  to   stop  with 
her  till  the  end?    You  know  that  I  am  not  rich,  and 
I  cannot  even  afford  to  keep  a  servant-girl.     It  is  just 
that  which  has  brought  my  poor  mother  to  this  state, 
too  much  work  and  fatigue  I     She   used   to  work   for 
ten,  in  spite  of  her  ninety-two  years.     You  don't  find 
any  made  of  that  stuff  nowadays  ! " 
/       La    Rapet    answered    gravely:      "There    are    two 
prices;     Forty  sous  by  day  and  three  francs  by  night 
for   the   rich,  and   twenty  sous   by  day,  and    forty  by 
night   for   the   others.     You  shall    pay  me  the  twenty 
and  forty."     But   the   peasant   reflected,  for   he   knew 
his    mother    well.     He    knew    how  tenacious   of  life, 
how    vigorous    and    unyielding   she  was.     He    knew, 
too,  that  she  might  last  another  week,  in  spite  of  the 
doctor's  opinion,  and  so   he   said   resolutely:     "No,  ! 
would  rather  you  would  fix  a  price  until  the  end.     I 
will    take    my    chance,  one    way   or    the   other.     The 
doctor  says  she  will  die  very  soon.     If  that  happens, 
so  much  the  better  for  you,  and  so   much   the  worse 
for  me,  but  if  she  holds  out  till  to-morrow  or  longer, 
so   much   the   better  for   me  and  so  much  the  worse 
for  you  ! " 

The  nurse  looked  at  the  man  in  astonishment,  for 
she  had  never  treated  a  death  as  a  speculative  job, 
and  she  hesitated,  tempted  by  the  idea  of  the  possible 
gain.  But  almost  immediately  she  suspected  that  he 
wanted  to  juggle  her.  "I  can  say  nothing  until  I  have 
seen  your  mother,"  she  replied. 

"Then  come  with  me  and  see  her." 


THE   DEVIL  177 

She  washed  her  hands,  and  went  with  him  imme- 
diately. They  did  not  speak  on  the  road;  she  walked 
with  short,  hasty  steps,  while  he  strode  on  with  his 
long  legs,  as  if  he  \\'ere  crossing  a  brook  at  every 
step.  The  cows  lying  down  in  the  fields,  overcome 
by  the  heat,  raised  their  heads  heavily  and  lowed 
feebly  at  the  two  passers-by,  as  if  to  ask  them  for 
some  green  grass. 

When  they  got  near  the  house,  Honore  Bontemps 
murmured:  "Suppose  it  is  all  over.?"  And  the  un- 
conscious wish  that  it  might  be  so  showed  itself  in 
the  sound  of  his  voice. 

But  the  old  woman  was  not  dend.  She  was  lying 
on  her  back,  on  her  wretched  bed,  her  hands  cov- 
ered with  a  pink  cotton  counterpane,  horiibly  thin, 
knotty  paws,  like  some  strange  animal's,  or  lil:e 
rrabs'  claws,  hands  closed  by  rheumatism,  fatigue, 
and  the  work  of  nearly  a  century  which  she  had  ac- 
complished. 

La  Rapet  went  up  to  the  bed  and  looked  at  the 
dying  woman,  felt  her  pulse,  tapped  her  on  the  chest, 
listened  to  her  breathing,  and  asked  her  questions,  so 
as  to  hear  her  speak:  then,  having  looked  at  her  for 
some  time  longer,  she  went  out  nf  the  room,  fr^llowed 
by  Honore.  His  decided  opinion  was,  that  the  old 
woman  would  not  last  out  the  night,  and  h?  asked: 
"Well?"  And  the  sick-nurse  replied:  "Well,  she 
may  last  two  days,  perhaps  three.  You  will  have  to 
give  me  six  francs,  everything  included." 

"Six  francs!    six  francs!"  he  shouted.     "Are  you 

out   of  your    mind  ?     I  tell    you   that   she   cannot   last 

more    than    five    or    six    hours!"     And    they  disputed 

angrily  for  some  time,  but  as  the  nurse  said  she  would 

Maup.  1—12 


lyS  WORKS   OF    GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

go  home,  as  the  time  was  slipping  away,  and  as  his 
wheat  would  not  come  to  the  farmyard  of  its  own 
accord,  he  agreed  to  her  terms  at  last: 

"Very  well,  then,  that  is  settled;  six  francs  includ- 
ing everything,  until  the  corpse  is  taken  out." 

"That  is  settled,  six  francs." 

And  he  went  away,  with  long  strides,  to  his 
wheat,  which  was  lying  on  the  ground  under  the  hot 
sun  which  ripens  the  grain,  while  the  sick-nurse  re- 
turned to  the  house. 

She  had  brought  some  work  with  her,  for  she 
worked  without  stopping  by  the  side  of  the  dead 
and  dying,  sometimes  for  herself,  sometimes  for  the 
family,  who  employed  her  as  seamstress  also,  pay- 
ing her  rather  more  in  that  capacity.  Suddenly  she 
asked: 

"Have  you  received  the  last  sacrament.  Mother 
Bontemps.?" 

The  old  peasant  woman  said  "No"  with  her 
head,  and  La  Rapet,  who  was  very  devout,  got  up 
quickly:  "Good  heavens,  is  it  possible?  1  will  go 
and  fetch  the  cure";  and  she  rushed  off  to  the  par- 
sonage so  quickly,  that  the  urchins  in  the  street 
thought  some  accident  had  happened,  when  they  saw 
her  trotting  off  like  that 

The  priest  came  immediately  in  his  surplice,  pre- 
ceded by  a  choir-boy,  who  rang  a  bell  to  announce 
the  passage  of  the  Host  through  the  parched  and 
quiet  country.  Some  men,  working  at  a  distance, 
took  off  their  large  hats  and  remained  motionless 
until  the  white  vestment  had  disappeared  behind  some 
farm  buildings;  the  women  who  were  making  up  the 


THE   DEVIL  179 

sheaves  stood  up  to  make  the  sign  of  the  cross;  the 
frightened  black  hens  ran  away  along  the  ditch  until 
they  reached  a  well-known  hole  through  which  they 
suddenly  disappeared,  while  a  foal,  which  was  tied 
up  in  a  meadow,  took  fright  at  the  sight  of  the  sur- 
plice and  began  to  gallop  round  at  the  length  of  its 
rope,  kicking  violently.  The  choir-boy,  in  his  red 
cassock,  walked  quickly,  and  the  priest,  the  square 
biretta  on  his  bowed  head,  followed  him,  muttering 
some  prayers.  Last  of  all  came  La  Rapet,  bent  al- 
most double,  as  if  she  wished  to  prostrate  herself; 
she  walked  with  folded  hands,  as  if  she  were  in 
church. 

Honore  saw  them  pass  in  the  distance,  and  he 
asked:  "Where  is  our  priest  going  to?"  And  his 
man,  who  was  more  acute,  replied:  "He  is  taking 
the  sacrament  to  your  mother,  of  course!" 

The  peasant  was  not  surprised  and  said:  "That  is 
quite  possible,"  and  went  on  with  his  work. 

Mother  Bontemps  confessed,  received  absolution 
and  extreme  unction,  and  the  priest  took  his  depar- 
ture, leaving  the  two  women  alone  in  the  suffocating 
cottage.  La  Rapet  began  to  look  at  the  dying 
woman,  and  to  ask  herself  whether  it  could  last 
much  longer. 

The  day  was  on  the  wane,  and  a  cooler  air  came 
in  stronger  puffs,  making  a  view  of  Hpinal,  which 
was  fastened  to  the  wall  by  two  pins,  llap  up  and 
down.  The  scanty  window  curtains,  which  had 
formerly  been  white,  but  were  now  yellow  ana  cov- 
ered with  fly-specks,  looked  as  if  they  were  going  to 
fly  off",  and  seemed  to  struggle  to  get  away,  like  the 
old  woman's  soul. 


l8o  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

Lying  motionless,  with  her  eyes  open;  the  old 
mother  seemed  to  await  the  death  which  was  so  near, 
and  which  yet  delayed  its  coming,  with  perfect  in- 
difference. Her  short  breath  whistled  in  her  throat, 
it  would  stop  altogether  soon,  and  there  would  be 
one  woman  less  in  the  world,  one  whom  nobody 
would  regret. 

At  nightfall  Honore  returned,  and  when  he  went 
up  to  the  bed  and  saw  that  his  mother  was  still 
alive  he  asked:  "How  is  she?"  just  as  he  had  done 
formerly,  when  she  had  been  sick.  Then  he  sent  La 
Rapet  away,  saying  to  her:  "To-morrow  morning 
at  five  o'clock,  without  fail."  And  she  replied:  "To* 
morrow  at  five  o'clock." 

She  came  at  daybreak,  and  found  Honore  eating" 
his  soup,  which  he  had  made  himself,  before  going 
to  work. 

"Well,  is  your  mother  dead?"  asked  the  nurse.    • 

"She  is  rather  better,  on  the  contrary,"  he  replied, 
with  a  malignant  look  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eyes. 
Then  he  went  out. 

La  Rapet  was  seized  with  anxiety,  and  went  up 
to  the  dying  woman,  who  was  in  the  same  state, 
lethargic  and  impassive,  her  eyes  open  and  her  hands 
clutohing  the  counterpane.  The  nurse  perceived  that 
this  might  go  on  thus  for  two  days,  four  days,  eight 
days,  even,  and  her  avaricious  mind  was  seized  with 
fear.  She  was  excited  to  fury  against  the  cunning 
fellow  who  had  tricked  her,  and  against  the  woman 
who  would  not  die. 

Nevertheless,  she  began  to  sew  and  waited  with 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  wrinkled  face  of  Mother  Bon- 
temps.     When  Honore  returned  to  breakfast  he  seemed 


THE  DEVIL  l8l 

quite  satisfied,  and  even  in  a  bantering  humor,  for  lie 
was  carrying  in  his  wheat  under  very  favorable  cir- 
cumstances. 

La  Rapet  was  getting  exasperated;  every  passing 
minute  now  seemed  to  her  so  much  time  and  money 
stolen  from  her.  She  felt  a  mad  inclination  to  choke 
this  old  ass,  this  headstrong  old  fool,  this  obstinate 
old  wretch— to  stop  that  short,  rapid  breath,  which 
was  robbing  her  of  her  time  and  money,  by  squeezing 
her  throat  a  little.  But  then  she  reflected  on  the 
danger  of  doing  so,  and  other  thoughts  came  into 
her  head,  so  she  went  up  to  the  bed  and  said  to  her: 
"Have  you  ever  seen  the  Devil?" 

Mother  Bontemps  whispered:     "No." 

Then  the  sick-nurse  began  to  talk  and  to  tell  her 
tales  likely  to  terrify  her  weak  and  dying  mind. 
"Some  minutes  before  one  dies  the  Devil  appears," 
she  said,  "to  all.  He  has  a  broom  in  his  hand,  a 
.5.aucepan  on  his  head  and  he  utters  loud  cries. 
When  anybody  had  seen  him,  all  was  over,  and  that 
person  had  only  a  few  moments  longer  to  live";  and 
she  enumerated  all  those  to  whom  the  Devil  had  ap- 
peared that  year:  Josephine  Loisel,  Eulalie  Ratier, 
Sophie  Padagnau,   Seraphine  Grospied. 

Mother  Bontemps,  who  was  at  last  most  disturbed 
In  mind,  moved  about,  wrung  her  hands,  and  tried 
to  turn  her  head  to  look  at  the  other  end  of  the 
room.  Suddenly  La  Rapet  disappeared  at  the  foot  of 
the  bed.  She  took  a  sheet  out  of  the  cupboard  and 
wrapped  herself  up  in  it;  then  she  put  the  iron  pot 
on  to  her  head,  so  that  its  three  short  bent  feet  rose 
up  like  horns,  took  a  broom  in  her  right  hand  and  a 


l82  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

tin  pail  in  her  left,  which  she  threw  up  suddenly,  so 
that  it  might  fail  to  the  ground  noisily. 

Certainly  when  it  came  down,  it  made  a  terrible 
noise.  Then,  climbing  on  to  a  chair,  the  nurse 
showed  herself,  gesticulating  and  uttering  shrill  cries 
into  the  pot  which  covered  her  face,  while  she  men- 
aced the  old  peasant  woman,  who  was  nearly  dead, 
with  her  broom. 

Terrified,  with  a  mad  look  on  her  face,  the  dying- 
woman  made  a  superhuman  effort  to  get  up  and 
escape;  she  even  got  her  shoulders  and  chest  out  of 
bed;  then  she  fell  back  with  a  deep  sigh.  All  was 
over,  and  La  Rapet  calmly  put  everything  back  into 
its  place;  the  broom  into  the  corner  by  the  cup- 
board, the  sheet  inside  it,  the  pot  on  to  the  hearth, 
the  pail  on  to  the  floor,  and  the  chair  against  the  wall. 
Then  with  a  professional  air,  she  closed  the  dead 
woman's  enormous  eyes,  put  a  plate  on  the  bed  and 
poured  some  holy  water  into  it,  dipped  the  twig  of 
Boxwood  into  it,  and  kneeling  down,  she  fervently 
repeated  the  prayers  for  the  dead,  which  she  knew 
by  heart,  as  a  matter  of  business. 

When  Honore  returned  in  the  evening,  he  found 
her  praying.  He  calculated  immediately  that  she  had 
made  twenty  sous  out  of  him,  for  she  had  only  spent 
three  days  and  one  night  there,  which  made  five 
francs  altogether,  instead  of  the  six  which  he  owed 
her. 


EPIPHANY 


h!"  said   Captain   the    Count   de 
Garens,   "I  should  rather  think 
that  I  do  remember  that  Epiph- 
any    supper,     during     the    war  I 
"At    the    time    1    was    quarter- 
master of  cavahy,  and  for  a  fort- 
night, I  had  been  lurking  about  as 
a  scout  in  front  of  the  German  ad- 
vanced   guard.      The   evening  before 
we   had  cut   down  a  few  Uhhms  and 
had  lost  three  men,  one  of  whom  was 
that  pour  little  Raudeville.     You  remem- 
g^iy        ber  Joseph  de  Raudeville  well,  of  course. 
•^  "Well,  on  that  day  my  captain  ordered  me 

to  take  six  troopers  and  occupy  the  village  of  Porterin, 
where  there  had  been  five  fights  in  three  weeks,  and 
to  hold  it  all  night.  There  were  not  twenty  houses 
left  standing,  nay,  not  a  dozen,  in  that  wasp's  nest. 
So  I  took  ten  troopers,  and  set  out  at  about  four 
o'clock;  at  five  o'clock,  while  it  was  still  pitch  dark, 
we  reached  the  first  houses  of  Porterin.  I  halied 
and  ordered   Marchas  —  you  know  Pierre  de  Marchas, 

(183) 


l84  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

who  afterward  married  little  Martel-Auvelin,  the 
daughter  of  the  Marquis  de  Martel-Auvelin  —  to  go 
alone  into  the  village  and  to  report  to  me  what  he 
saw. 

"I  had  chosen  nothing  but  volunteers,  and  all  of 
good  family.  When  on  service  it  is  pleasant  not  to 
be  forced  into  intimacy  with  unpleasant  fellows. 
This  Marchas  was  as  sharp  as  possible,  as  cunning 
as  a  fox,  and  as  supple  as  a  serpent.  He  could  scent 
the  Prussians  as  well  as  a  dog  can  scent  a  hare, 
could  find  victuals  where  we  should  have  died  of 
hunger  without  him,  and  could  obtain  information 
from  everybody  —  information  which  was  always  re- 
liable—  with  incredible  cleverness. 

"In  ten  minutes  he  returned.  'All  right,'  he  said; 
'there  have  been  no  Prussians  here  for  three  days. 
It  is  a  sinister  place,  is  this  village.  I  have  been 
talking  to  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  who  is  attending  to  four 
or  five  wounded  men  in  an  abandoned  convent.' 

"1  ordered  them  to  ride  on,  and  we  penetrated 
into  the  principal  street.  On  the  right  and  left  we 
could  vaguely  see  roofless  walls,  hardly  visible  in  th? 
profound  darkness.  Here  and  there  a  light  was  burn- 
ing in  a  room;  some  family  had  remained  to  keep  its 
house  standing  as  long  as  they  were  able;  a  family  of 
brave,  or  of  poor,  people.  The  rain  began  to  fall,  a 
fine,  icy-cold  rain,  which  froze  us  before  it  wetted 
us  through,  by  merely  touching  our  cloaks.  The 
horses  stumbled  against  stones,  against  beams,  against 
furniture.  Marchas  guided  us,  going  before  us  on. 
foot,  and  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

'"Where  are  you  taking  us  to?'  I  asked  him. 
And   he   replied:    '1   have   a  place  for  us  to  lodge  in. 


EPIPHANY 


185 


and  a  rare  good  one.'  And  soon  we  stopped  before 
a  small  house,  evidently  belonging  to  some  person  of 
the  middle  class,  completely  shut  up,  built  on  to  the 
street  with  a  garden  in  the  rear. 

"Marchas  broke  open  the  lock  by  means  of  a  big 
stone,  which  he  picked  up  near  the  garden  gate; 
then  he  mounted  the  steps,  smashed  in  the  front  door 
with  his  feet  and  shoulders,  lighted  a  bit  of  wax  can- 
dle, which  he  was  never  without,  and  preceded  us 
into  the  comfortable  apartments  of  some  rich  private 
individual,  guiding  us  with  admirable  assurance,  just 
as  if  he  had  lived  in  this  house  which  he  now  saw 
for  the  first  time. 

"Two  troopers  remained  outside  to  take  care  of 
our  horses;  then  Marchas  said  to  stout  Ponderel,  who 
followed  him:  'The  stables  must  be  on  the  left;  I 
s,aw  that  as  we  came  in;  go  and  put  the  animals  up 
there,  for  we  do  not  want  them,'  and  then  turning 
to  me  he  said:  'Give  your  orders,  confound  it  all!' 

"Marchas  always  astonished  me,  and  I  replied 
with  a  laugh:  '1  shall  post  my  sentinels  at  the  coun- 
try approaches  and  I  will  return  to  you  here." 

"'How  many  men  are  you  going  to  take?' 

"  'Five.  The  others  will  relieve  them  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  evening.' 

'"Very  well.  Leave  me  four  to  look  after  pro- 
visions, to  do  the  cooking,  and  to  set  the  table,  i 
will  go  and  find  out  where  the  wine  is  hidden  away.' 

"I  went  off  to  reconnoiter  the  deserted  streets, 
until  they  ended  in  the  open  country,  so  as  to  post 
my  sentries  there. 

"Half  an  hour  later  I  was  back,  and  found  Mar- 
chas  lounging   in   a   great   armchair,  the   covering  of 


1 86  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

which  he  had  taken  off,  from  love  of  luxury  as  he 
said.  He  was  warming  his  feet  at  the  tire  and  smok- 
ing an  excellent  cigar,  whose  perfume  filled  the  room. 
He  was  alone,  his  elbows  resting  on  the  arms  of  the 
chair,  his  cheeks  flushed,  his  eyes  bright,  and  looking 
delighted. 

"I  heard  the  noise  of  plates  and  dishes  in  the 
next  room,  and  Marchas  said  to  me,  smiling  in  a 
beatific  manner:  'This  is  famous;  1  found  the  cham- 
pagne under  the  flight  of  steps  outside,  the  brandy  — 
fifty  bottles  of  the  very  finest  —  in  the  kitchen  garden 
under  a  pear-tree,  which  did  not  look  to  me  to  be 
quite  straigiit,  when  1  looked  at  it  by  the  light  of  my 
lantern.  As  for  solids,  we  have  two  fowls,  a  goose, 
a  duck,  and  three  pigeons.  They  are  being  cooked 
at  this  moment.  It  is  a  delightful  part  of  the  coun- 
try." 

"I  had  sat  down  opposite  to  him,  and  the  fire  in 
the  grate  was  burning  my  nose  and  cheeks. 

'''Where  did  you  find  this  wood.?'  I  asked. 

"'Splendid  wood,'  he  replied.  'The  owner's  car- 
riage. It  is  the  paint  which  is  causing  all  this  flame, 
an  essence  of  alcohol  and  varnish.     A  capital  house!' 

"I  laughed,  for  I  found  the  creature  was  funny, 
and  he  went  on:  'Fancy  this  being  the  Epiphany! 
I  have  had  a  bean  put  into  the  goose,  but  there  is  no 
queen;  it  is  really  very  annoying!'  And  I  repeated 
hke  an  echo:  'It  is  annoying,  but  what  do  you  want 
me  to  do  in  the  matter?' 

"'To  find  some,  of  course.* 

"'Some  women.     Women? — you  must  be  mad!' 

"'I  managed  to  find  the  brandy  under  the  pear- 
tree,  and   the    champagne    under   the   steps;    and   yet 


EPIPHANY  187 

there  was   nothing   to   guide  me,  while   as   for  you,  a 
petticoat  is  a  sure  sign.     Go  and  look,  old  fellow.' 

"He  looked  so  grave,  so  convinced,  that  I  could 
not  tell  whether  he  was  joking  or  not.  So  I  replied: 
'Look  here,  Marchas,  are  you  having  a  joke  with 
me.^' 

"'I  never  joke  on  duty.' 

"'But  where  the  devil  do  you  expect  me  to  find 
any  women?* 

"'Where  you  like;  there  must  be  two  or  three 
remaining  in  the  neighborhood,  so  ferret  them  out 
and  bring  them  here.' 

"1  got  up,  for  it  was  too  hot  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  Marchas  went  on:     'Do  you  want  an  idea?* 
"'Yes.' 

"'Go  and  see  the  priest.' 
'"The  priest?     What  for?' 

"'Ask  him  to  supper,  and  beg  bim  to  bring  a 
woman  with  him.' 

"'The  priest!  A  woman!  Ha!  ha!  ha!* 
"But  Marchas  continued  with  extraordinary  grav- 
ity: '1  am  not  laughing;  go  and  find  the  priest  and 
tell  him  how  we  are  situated,  and,  as  he  must  be 
horribly  dull,  he  will  come.  But  tell  him  that  we 
want  one  woman  at  least,  a  lady,  of  course,  since  we 
are  all  men  of  the  world.  He  is  sure  to  have  the 
names  of  his  female  parishioners  on  the  tips  of  his 
fingers,  and  if  there  is  one  to  suit  us,  and  you  man- 
age it  well,  he  will  indicate  her  to  you.' 

'"Come,  come,  Marchas,  what  are  you  thinking 
of?' 

"'My  dear  Garcns,  you  can  do  this  quite  well,  it 
will    be   very    funny.     We   are    well    bred,  by    Jove! 


l88  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

and  we  will  put  on  our  most  distinguished  manners 
and  our  grandest  style.  Tell  the  abbe  who  we  are, 
make  him  laugh,  soften  him,  seduce  him,  and  per- 
suade him!' 

"'No,  it  is  impossible,' 

"He  drew  his  chair  close  to  mine,  and  as  he  knew 
my  weak  side,  the  scamp  continued:  'Just  think 
what  a  swagger  thing  it  will  be  to  do,  and  how 
amusmg  to  tell  about;  the  whole  army  will  talk  about 
it,  and  it  will  give  you  a  famous  reputation.' 

"I  hesitated,  for  the  adventure  rather  tempted  me. 
He  persisted:  'Come,  my  little  Garens.  You  are 
in  command  of  this  detachment,  and  you  alone  can 
go  and  call  on  the  head  of  the  church  in  this  neigh- 
borhood. I  beg  of  you  to  go,  and  I  promise  you 
that  after  the  war,  1  will  relate  the  whole  affair  in 
verse  in  the  "Revue  des  Deux  Mondes."  You  owe 
this  much  to  your  men,  for  you  have  made  them 
march  enough  during  the  last  month.' 

"I  got  up  at  last  and  asked:  'Where  is  the  par- 
sonage?' 

"'Take  the  second  turning  at  the  end  of  the 
street;  you  will  then  see  an  avenue,  and  at  the  end 
of  the  avenue  you  will  find  the  church.  The  parson- 
age is  beside  it.'  As  1  departed  he  called  out:  'Tell 
him  the  bill  of  fare,  to  make  him   hungry!' 

"I  discovered  the  ecclesiastic's  little  house  with- 
out any  difficulty;  it  was  by  the  side  of  a  large,  ugly, 
brick  church.  As  there  was  neither  bell  nor  knocker, 
I  knocked  at  the  door  with  my  fist,  and  a  loud  voice 
from  inside  asked:  *Who  is  there?'  to  which  I  re- 
plied:   'A  quartermaster  of  hussars.* 


EPIPHANY  189 

"I  heard  the  noise  of  bohs,  and  of  a  key  being; 
turned.  Then  I  found  myself  face  to  face  with  a  tall 
priest  with  a  large  stomach,  the  chest  of  a  prize-fighter, 
formidable  hands  projecting  from  turned-up  sleeves,  a 
red  face,  and  the  looks  of  a  kind  man.  I  gave  him 
a  military  salute  and  said:  'Good  day,  Monsieur  le 
Cure.' 

"  He  had  feared  a  surprise,  some  marauders'  am- 
bush, and  he  smiled  as  he  replied:  'Good  day, 
my  friend;  come  in.'  1  followed  him  into  a  small 
room,  with  a  red  tiled  floor,  in  which  a  small  fire  was 
burning,  very  different  to  Marchas's  furnace.  He  gave 
me  a  chair  and  said:   'What  can  I  do  for  you?' 

"'Monsieur,  allow  me  first  of  all  to  introduce  my- 
self; and  I  gave  him  my  card,  which  he  took  and 
read  half  aloud:    'The  Comte  de  Garens.' 

"I  continued:  'There  are  eleven  of  us  here  Mon- 
sieur I'Abbe,  five  on  grand  guard,  and  six  installed  at 
the  house  of  an  unknown  inhabitant.  The  names  of 
the  six  are,  Garens  (that  is  I),  Pierre  de  Marchas, 
Ludovic  de  Ponderel,  Baron  d'Etreillis,  Karl  Massou- 
ligny,  the  painter's  son,  and  Joseph  Herbon,  a  young 
musician.  1  have  come  to  ask  you,  in  their  name 
and  my  own,  to  do  us  the  honor  of  supping  with  us. 
It  is  an  Epiphany  supper.  Monsieur  le  Cure,  and  we 
should  like  to  make  it  a  little  cheerful.' 

"The  priest  smiled  and  murmured:  'It  seems  to 
me  to  be  hardly  a  suitable  occasion  for  amusing  one- 
self.' 

"I  replied:  'We  are  fighting  every  day,  Mon- 
sieur. Fourteen  of  our  comrades  have  been  killed  in 
a  month,  and  three  fell  as  late  as  yesterday.  That  is 
war.     We  stake  our  life  every  moment:  have  we  not, 


190 


WORKS  OF   GUY  DE   MAUPASSANT 


therefore,  the  right  to  amuse  ourselves  freely?  We 
are  Frenchmen,  we  like  to  laugh,  and  we  can  laugh 
everywhere.  Our  fathers  laughed  on  the  scaffold! 
This  evening  we  should  like  to  bright-en  ourselves 
up  a  little,  like  gentlemen,  and  not  like  soldiers;  you 
understand  me,  I  hope.     Are  we  wrong?' 

"He  replied  quickly:  'You  are  quite  right,  my 
friend,  and  I  accept  your  invitation  with  great  pleas- 
ure.*    Then  he  called  out:     'Hermance!' 

"An  old,  bent,  wrinkled,  horrible,  peasant  woman 
appeared  and  said:     'What  do  you  want?' 

"'1  shall  not  dine  at  home,  my  daughter.' 

'"Where  are  you  going  to  dine  then?' 

"'With  some  gentlemen,  hussars.' 

"I  felt  inclined  to  say:  'Bring  your  servant  with 
you,'  just  to  see  Marchas's  face,  but  I  did  not  venture 
to,  and  continued:  'Do  you  know  anyone  among 
your  parishioners,  male  or  female,  whom  I  could 
invite  as  well?'  He  hesitated,  reflected,  and  then  said: 
'No,  I  do  not  know  anybody!' 

"1  persisted:  'Nobody?  Come,  Monsieur,  think; 
it  would  be  very  nice  to  have  some  ladies,  I  mean  to 
say,  some  married  couples!  I  know  nothing  about 
your  parishioners.  The  baker  and  his  wife,  the 
grocer,  the  —  the  —  the  —  watchmaker — the — shoema- 
ker— the — the  chemist  with  his  wife.  We  have  a 
good  spread,  and  plenty  of  wine,  and  we  should  be 
enchanted  to  leave  pleasant  recollections  of  ourselves 
behind  us  with  the  people  here.' 

"The  priest  thought  again  for  a  long  time  and 
then  said  resolutely:  'No,  there  is  nobody.' 

"I  began  to  laugh.  'By  Jove,  Monsieur  le  Cure, 
it  is  very  vexing  not  to  have  an  Epiphany  queen,  for 


EPIPHANY 


191 


we  have  the  bean.  Come,  think.  Is  there  not  a 
married  mayor,  or  a  married  deputy-mayor,  or  a  mar- 
ried municipal  councilor,  or  schoolmaster?' 

"'No,  all  the  ladies  have  gone  away.' 

"'What,  is  there  not  in  the  whole  place  some 
good  tradesman's  wife  with  her  good  tradesman,  to 
whom  we  might  give  this  pleasure,  for  it  would  be 
a  pleasure  to  them,  a  great  pleasure  under  present 
circumstances.^' 

"But  suddenly  the  cure  began  to  laugh,  and  he 
laughed  so  violently  that  he  fairly  shook,  and  ex- 
claimed: 'Ha!  ha!  ha!  I  have  got  what  you  want, 
yes.  I  have  got  what  you  want!  Ha!  ha!  ha!  We 
will  laugh  and  enjoy  ourselves,  my  children,  we  will 
have  some  fun.  How  pleased  the  ladies  will  be,  I 
say,  how  delighted  they  will  be.  Ha!  ha!  Where 
are  you  staying  ?' 

"I  described  the  house,  and  he  understood  where 
it  was.  'Very  good,'  he  said.  'It  belongs  to  Mon- 
sieur Bertin-Lavaille.  I  will  be  there  in  half  an  hour, 
with  four  ladies.     Ha!  ha!  ha!  four  ladies!' 

"He  went  out  with  me,  still  laughing,  and  left 
me,  repeating:  'That  is  capital;  in  half  an  hour  at 
Bertin-Lavaille's  house.' 

"I  returned  quickly,  very  much  astonished  and 
very  much  puzzled.  'Covers  for  how  many.?'  Mar- 
chas  asked,  as  soon  as  he  saw  me. 

"  'Eleven.  There  are  six  of  us  hussars  besides  the 
priest  and  four  ladies.' 

"He  was  thunderstruck,  and  I  triumphant,  and  he 
repeated:   'Four  ladies!     Did  you  say,  four  ladies?' 

"'I  said  four  women.' 

"  'Real  women?' 


192 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"  'Real  women.' 

"'Well,  accept  my  com.plimentsl' 

"'I  will,  for  I  deserve  them.' 

"He  got  out  of  his  armchair,  opened  the  door, 
and  I  saw  a  beautiful,  white  tablecloth  on  a  long 
table,  round  which  three  hussars  in  blue  aprons  were 
setting  out  the  plates  and  glasses.  'There  are  some 
women  coming!'  Marchas  cried.  And  the  three  men 
began  to  dance  and  to  cheer  with  all  their  might. 

"Everything  was  ready,  and  we  were  waiting. 
We  waited  for  nearly  an  hour,  while  a  delicious  smell 
of  roast  poultry  pervaded  the  whole  house.  At  last, 
however,  a  knock  against  the  shutters  made  us  all 
jump  up  at  the  same  moment.  Stout  Ponderel  ran  to 
open  the  door,  and  in  less  than  a  minute  a  little  Sis- 
ter of  Mercy  appeared  in  the  doorway.  She  was 
thin,  wrinkled,  and  timid,  and  successively  saluted  the 
four  bewildered  hussars  who  saw  her  enter.  Behind 
her,  the  noise  of  sticks  sounded  on  the  tiled  floor  in 
the  vestibule.  As  soon  as  she  had  come  into  the 
drawing-room  1  saw  three  old  heads  in  white  caps, 
following  each  other  one  by  one,  balancing  themselves 
with  different  movements,  one  canting  to  the  right, 
while  the  other  canted  to  the  left.  Then  three  worthy 
women  showed  themselves,  limping,  dragging  their 
legs  behind  them,  crippled  by  illness  and  deformed 
through  old  age,  three  infirm  old  women,  past  serv- 
ice, the  only  three  pensioners  who  were  able  to  walk 
in  the  establishment  which  Sister  Saint-Benedict  mi;n- 
aged. 

"She  had  turned  round  to  her  invalids,  full  of 
anxiety  for  them,  and  then  seeing  my  quartermaster's 
stripes,  she  said  to  me:     'I  am  much  obliged  to  you 


EPIPHANY 


195 


for  thinking  of  these  poor  women.  They  have  very 
little  pleasure  in  life,  and  you  are  at  the  same  time 
giving  them  a  great  treat  and  doing  them  a  great 
honor.' 

"I  saw  the  priest,  who  had  remained  in  the  ob- 
scurity of  the  passage,  and  who  was  laughing  heartily, 
and  I  began  to  laugh  in  my  turn,  especially  when  I 
saw  Marchas's  face.  Then,  motioning  the  nun  to  the 
seats,  I  said:  'Sit  down.  Sister:  we  are  very  proud 
and  very  happy  that  you  have  accepted  our  unpre- 
tentious invitation.' 

"She  took  three  chairs  which  stood  against  the  wall, 
set  them  before  the  fire,  led  her  three  old  women 
to  them,  settled  them  on  them,  took  their  sticks 
and  shawls  which  she  put  into  a  corner,  and  then, 
pointing  to  the  first,  a  thin  woman  with  an  enormous 
stomach,  who  was  evidently  suffering  from  the  dropsy, 
she  said:  'This  is  Mother  Paumelle,  whose  husband 
was  killed  by  falling  from  a  roof,  and  whose  son  died 
in  Africa;  she  is  sixty  years  old.'  Then  she  pointed 
to  another,  a  tall  woman,  whose  head  shook  unceas- 
ingly: 'This  is  Mother  Jean-Jean,  who  is  sixty-seven. 
She  is  nearly  blind,  for  her  face  was  terribly  singed 
in  a  fire,  and  her  right  leg  was  half  burned  off.' 

"Then  she  pointed  to  the  third,  a  sort  of  dwarf, 
with  protruding,  round,  stupid  eyes,  which  she  rolled 
incessantly  in  all  directions.  'This  is  La  Putois,  an 
idiot.     She  is  only  forty-four.' 

"I  bowed  to  the  throe  women  as  if  I  were  being 
presented  to  some  Royal  Highness,  and  turning  to 
the  priest  1  said:  'You  are  an  excellent  man,  Mon- 
sieur l'Abb6,  and  we  all  owe  you  a  debt  of  grati- 
tude.' 

Maup.  1—13 


194  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"Everybody  was  laughing,  in  fact,  except  Marchas, 
wiio  seemed  furious,  and  just  then  Karl  Massouligny 
cried:    'Sister  Saint-Benedict,  supper  is  on  the  table!' 

"I  made  her  go  first  with  the  priest,  then  1 
helped  up  Mother  Paumelle,  whose  arm  I  took  and 
dragged  her  into  the  next  room,  which  was  no  easy 
task,  for  her  swollen  stomach  seemed  heavier  thnn  a 
lump  of  iron. 

"Stout  Ponderel  gave  his  arm  to  Mother  Jean- 
Jean,  who  bemoaned  her  crutch,  and  little  Joseph 
Herbon  took  the  idiot,  La  Putois,  to  the  dining- 
room,  which  was  filled  with  the  odor  of  the  viands. 

"As  soon  as  we  were  opposite  our  plates,  the 
Sister  clapped  her  hands  three  times,  and,  with  the 
precision  of  soldiers  presenting  arms,  the  women 
made  a  rapid  sign  of  the  cross,  and  then  the  priest 
slowly  repeated  the  'Benedictus'  in  Latin.  Then  we 
sat  down,  and  the  two  fowls  appeared,  brought  in 
by  Marchas,  who  chose  to  wait  rather  than  to  sit 
down  as  a  guest  at  this  ridiculous  repast. 

"But  I  cried:  'Bring  the  champagne  at  once!' 
and  a  cork  flew  out  with  the  noise  of  a  pistol,  and 
in  spite  of  the  resistance  of  the  priest  and  the  kind 
Sister,  the  three  hussars  sitting  by  the  side  of  the 
three  invalids,  emptied  their  three  full  glasses  down 
their  throats  by  force. 

"Massouligny,  who  possessed  the  faculty  of  mak- 
ing himself  at  home,  and  of  being  on  good  terms 
with  everyone,  wherever  he  was,  made  love  to 
Mother  Paumelle,  in  the  drollest  manner.  The  drop- 
sical woman,  who  had  retained  her  cheerfulness  in 
spite  of  her  misfortunes,  answered  him  banteringly  in 
a  high  falsetto   voice   which  seemed   to  be  assumed, 


EPIPHANY  195 

and  she  laughed  so  heartily  at  her  neighbor's  jokes 
that  her  large  stomach  looked  as  if  it  were  going  to 
rise  up  and  get  on  to  the  table.  Little  Herbon  had 
seriously  undertaken  the  task  of  making  the  idiot 
drunk,  and  Baron  d'Etreillis  whose  wits  were  not  al- 
ways particularly  sharp,  was  questioning  old  Jean- 
Jean  about  the  life,  the  habits,  and  the  rules  in  the 
hospital. 

"The  nun  said  to  Massouligny  in  consternation: 
*0h!  oh!  you  will  make  her  ill;  pray  do  not  make 
her  laugh  like  that,  Monsieur.  Oh!  Monsieur.'  Then 
she  got  up  and  rushed  at  Herbon  to  take  a  full  glass 
out  of  his  hands  which  he  was  hastily  emptying 
down  La  Putois's  throat,  while  the  priest  shook  with 
laughter,  and  said  to  the  Sister:  'Never  mind,  just 
this  once,  it  will  not  hurt  her.     Do  leave  them  alone.' 

"After  the  two  fowls  they  ate  the  duck,  which 
was  flanked  by  the  three  pigeons  and  a  blackbird, 
and  then  the  goose  appeared,  smoking,  golden- 
colored,  and  diffusing  a  warm  odor  of  hot,  browned 
fat  meat.  La  Paumelle  who  was  getting  lively,  clapped 
her  hands;  La  Jean-Jean  left  off  answering  the  Baron's 
numerous  questions,  and  La  Putois  uttered  grunts  of 
pleasure,  half  cries  and  half  sighs,  like  little  children 
do  when  one  shows  them  sweets.  'Allow  me  to 
carve  this  bird,'  the  cur6  said.  '1  understand  these 
sort  of  operations  better  than  most  people.' 

"'Certainly,  Monsieur  I'Abbe,'  and  the  Sister  said: 
•How  would  it  be  to  open  the  window  a  little;  they 
are  too  warm,  and  1  am  afraid  they  will  be  ill.' 

"1  turned  to  Marchas:  'Open  the  window  for  a 
minute.'  He  did  so;  the  cold  outer  air  as  it  came  in 
made    the    candles    flare,    and    the    smoke    from    the 


196  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

goose  —  which  the  cure  was  scientifically  carving,  with 
a  table  napkin  round  his  neck  —  whirl  about.  We 
watched  him  doing  it,  without  speaking  now,  for  we 
were  interested  in  his  attractive  handiwork,  and  also 
seized  with  renewed  appetite  at  the  sight  of  that 
enormous  golden-colored  bird,  whose  limbs  fell  one 
after  another  into  the  brown  gravy  at  the  bottom  of 
the  dish.  At  that  moment,  in  the  midst  of  greedy 
silence  which  kept  us  all  attentive,  the  distant  report 
of  a  shot  came  in  at  the  open  window. 

"I  started  to  my  feet  so  quickly  that  my  chair 
fell  down  behind  me,  and  I  shouted:  'Mount,  all  of 
you!  You,  Marchas,  will  take  two  men  and  go  and 
see  what  it  is.  1  shall  expect  you  back  here  in  five 
minutes.'  And  while  the  three  riders  went  off  at  full 
gallop  through  the  night,  I  got  into  the  saddle  with 
my  three  remaining  hussars,  in  front  of  the  steps  of 
the  villa,  while  the  cure,  the  Sister,  and  the  three  old 
women  showed  their  frightened  faces  at  the  window. 

"We  heard  nothing  more,  except  the  barking  of 
a  dog  in  the  distance.  The  rain  had  ceased,  and  it 
was  cold,  very  cold.  Soon  I  heard  the  gallop  of  a 
horse,  of  a  single  horse,  coming  back.  It  was  Mar- 
chas, and  I  called  out  to  him:     'Well?' 

'"It  is  nothing;  Francois  has  wounded  an  old 
peasant  who  refused  to  answer  his  challenge  and  who 
continued  to  advance  in  spite  of  the  order  to  keep 
off.  They  are  bringing  him  here,  an4  we  shall  see 
what  is  the  matter.' 

"I  gave  orders  for  the  horses  to  be  put  back  into 
the  stable,  and  I  sent  my  two  soldiers  to  meet  the 
others,  and  returned  to   the   house.     Then   the   cure. 


EPIPHANY  197 

Marchas  and  I  took  a*  mattress  into  the  room  to  put 
the  wounded  man  on;  the  Sister  tore  up  a  table 
napkin  in  order  to  make  lint,  while  the  three  fright- 
ened women  remained  huddled  up  in  a  corner. 

"Soon  I  heard  the  rattle  of  sabers  on  the  road, 
and  I  took  a  candle  to  show  a  light  to  the  men  who 
were  returning.  They  soon  appeared,  carrying  that 
inert,  soft,  long,  and  sinister  object  which  a  human 
body  becomes  when  life  no  longer  sustains  it. 

"They  put  the  wounded  man  on  the  mattress 
that 'had  been  prepared  for  him,  and  I  saw  at  the 
first  glance  that  he  was  dying.  He  had  the  death 
rattle,  and  was  spitting  up  blood  which  ran  out  of 
the  corners  of  his  mouth,  forced  out  of  his  lungs  by 
his  gasps.  The  man  was  covered  with  it!  His 
cheeks,  his  beard,  his  hair,  his  neck,  and  his  clothes 
seemed  to  have  been  rubbed,  to  have  been  dipped  in 
a  red  tub;  the  blood  had  congealed  on  him,  and  had 
become  a  dull  color  which  was  horrible  to  look  at. 

"The  old  man,  wrapped  up  in  a  large  shepherd's 
cloak,  occasionally  opened  his  dull,  vacant  eyes. 
They  seemed  stupid  with  astonishment,  like  the  eyes 
of  hunted  animals  which  fall  at  the  sportsman's  feet, 
half  dead  before  the  shot,  stupefied  with  fear  and 
surprise. 

"The  cure  exclaimed:  'Ah!  there  is  old  Placide,  the 
shepherd  from  Les  Marlins.  He  is  deaf,  poor  man, 
and  heard  nothing.  Ah!  Oh,  God!  they  have  killed 
the  unhappy  man!'  The  Sister  had  opened  his  blouse 
and  shirt,  and  was  looking  at  a  little  blue  hole  in 
the  middle  of  his  chest,  which  was  not  bleeding  any 
more.     'There  is  nothing  to  be  done,'  she  said. 


198  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"The  shepherd  was  gasping  terribly  and  bringing 
up  blood  with  every  breath,  hi  his  throat  to  the 
very  depth  of  his  lungs,  they  could  hear  an  ominous 
and  continued  gurghng.  The  cure,  standing  in  front 
of  him,  raised  his  right  hand,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  and  in  a  slow  and  solemn  voice  pronounced 
the  Latin  words  which  purify  men's  souls.  But  be- 
fore they  were  finished,  the  old  man  was  shaken  by 
a  rapid  shudder,  as  if  something  had  broken  inside 
him;  he  no  longer  breathed.     He  was  dead. 

"When  I  turned  round  1  saw  a  sight  which  was 
even  more  horrible  than  the  death  struggle  of  this 
unfortunate  man.  The  three  old  women  were  stand- 
ing up  huddled  close  together,  hideous,  and  grimac- 
ing with  fear  and  horror.  I  went  up  to  them,  and 
they  began  to  utter  shrill  screams,  while  La  Jean-Jean, 
whose  leg  had  been  burned  and  could  not  longer  sup- 
port her.  fell  to  the  ground  at  full  length. 

"Sister  Saint-Benedict  left  the  dead  man,  ran  up 
to  her  infirm  old  women,  and  without  a  word  or  a 
look  for  me  wrapped  their  shawls  round  them,  gave 
them  th^ir  crutches,  pushed  them  to  the  door,  made 
them  go  out,  and  disappeared  with  them  into  the  dark 
night. 

"I  saw  that  I  could  not  even  let  a  hussar  accom- 
pany them,  for  the  mere  rattle  of  a  sword  would 
have  sent  them  mad  with  fear. 

"The  cure  was  still  looking  at  the  dead  man;  but 
at  last  he  turned  to  me  and  said: 

"'Oh!  What  a  horrible  thing!'" 


SIMON'S    PAPA 


ooN  had  just  struck.  The  school- 
door  opened  and  the  youngsters 
streamed  out  tumbling  over  one 
another  in  their  haste  to  get  out 
quickly.  But  instead  of  promptly 
dispersing  and  going  home  to  dinner 
as  was  their  daily  wont,  they  stopped 
t^  ^  ^^^  paces  off,  broke  up  into   knots 

X^s;:;^^::^  '     and  set  to  whispering. 
fS^'^  The  fact  was  that  that  morning  Sim.on, 

^  '•  the  son   of   La    Blanchotte,    had,    for    the 

■?''  first  time,  attended  school. 

They  had  all  of  them  in  their  families 
heard  of  La  Blanchotte;  and  although  in 
public  she  was  welcome  enough,  the  mothers  among 
themselves  treated  her  with  compassion  of  a  some- 
what disdainful  kind,  which  the  children  had  caught 
without  in  the  least  knowing  why. 

As  for  Simon  himself,  they  did  not  know  him,  for 
he  never  went  abroad,  and  did  not  play  around  with 
them  through  the  streets  of  the  village  or  along  the 
banks  of  the  river.  So  they  !oved  him  but  little;  and  it 
was  with  a  certain  delight,  mingled  with  astonishment, 

(199) 


200  WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

that  they  gathered  in  groups  this  morning,  repeating 
to  each  other  this  sentence,  concocted  by  a  lad  of 
fourteen  or  fifteen  who  appeared  to  know  all  about 
it,  so  sagaciously  did  he  wink:  "You  know  Simon 
—  well,   he  has  no  papa." 

La  Blanchotte's  son  appeared  in  his  turn  upon  the 
threshold  of  the  school. 

He  was  seven  or  eight  years  old,  rather  pale,  very 
neat,  with  a  timid  and  almost  awkward  manner. 

He  was  making  his  way  back  to  his  mother's 
house  when  the  various  groups  of  his  schoolfellows, 
perpetually  whispering,  and  watching  him  with  the 
mischievous  and  heartless  eyes  of  children  bent  upon 
playing  a  nasty  trick,  gradually  surrounded  him  and 
ended  by  inclosing  him  altogether.  There  he  stood 
amid  them,  surprised  and  embarrassed,  not  under- 
standing what  they  were  going  to  do  with  him.  But 
the  lad  who  had  brought  the  news,  puffed  up  with 
the  success  he  had  met  with,  demanded: 

"What  do  you  call  yourself?" 

He  answered:    "Simon." 

"Simon  what?"  retorted  the  other. 

The  child,  aUogether  bewildered,  repeated: 
"Simon." 

The  lad  shouted  at  him:  "You  must  be  named 
Simon  something!  That  is  not  a  name  —  Simon  in- 
deed!" 

And  he,  on  the  brink  of  tears,  replied  for  the  third 
time: 

"I  am  named  Simon." 

The  urchins  began  laughing.  The  lad  triumphantly 
lifted  up  his  voice:  "You  can  see  plainly  that  he 
has  no  papa." 


SIMON'S    PAPA  20I 

A  deep  silence  ensued.  The  children  were  dum- 
founded  by  this  extraordinary,  impossibly  monstrous 
thing  —  a  boy  who  had  not  a  papa;  they  looked  upon 
him  as  a  phenomenon,  an  unnatural  being,  and  they 
felt  rising  in  them  the  hitherto  inexplicable  pity  of 
their  mothers  for  La  Blanchotte.  As  for  Simon,  he 
had  propped  himself  against  a  tree  to  avoid  falling, 
and  he  stood  there  as  if  paralyzed  by  an  irreparable 
disaster.  He  sought  to  explain,  but  he  could  think 
of  no  answer  for  them,  no  way  to  deny  this  horrible 
charge  that  he  had  no  papa.  At  last  he  shouted  at 
them  quite  recklessly:  *'Yes,  I  have  one." 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  the  boy. 

Simon  was  silent,  he  did  not  know.  The  children 
shrieked,  tremendously  excited.  These  sons  of  toil, 
nearly  related  to  animals,  experienced  the  cruel  crav- 
ing which  makes  the  fowls  of  a  farmyard  destroy  one 
of  their  own  kind  as  soon  as  it  is  wounded.  Simon 
suddenly  spied  a  little  neighbor,  the  son  of  a  widow, 
whom  he  had  always  seen,  as  he  himself  was  to  be 
seen,  quite  alone  with  his  mother. 

"And  no  more  have  you,"  he  said,  ''no  more 
have  you  a  papa." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  other,   "I  have  one." 

"Where  is  he?"  rejoined  Simon. 

"He  is  dead,"  declared  the  brat  with  superb  dig- 
nity,  "he  is  in  the  cemetery,  is  my  papa." 

A  murmur  of  approval  rose  amid  the  scape^ 
graces,  as  if  the  fact  of  possessing  a  papa  dead  in  a 
cemetery  made  their  comrade  big  enough  to  cru^h 
the  other  one  who  had  no  papa  at  all.  And  these 
rogues,  whose  fathers  were  for  the  most  part  evil- 
doers,   drunkards,    thieves,    and    ill-treaters    of   their 


202  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

wives  hustled  each  other  as  they  pressed  closer  and 
closer  to  Simon  as  though  they,  the  legitimate  ones, 
would  stifle  in  their  pressure  one  who  was  beyond 
the  law. 

The  lad  next  Simon  suddenly  put  his  tongue  out 
at  him  with  a  waggish  air  and  shouted  at  him: 

"No  papa!     No  papa!" 

Simon  seized  him  by  the  hair  with  both  hands 
and  set  to  work  to  demolish  his  legs  with  i<icks, 
while  he  bit  his  cheek  ferociously.  A  tremendous 
struggle  ensued  between  the  two  boys,  and  Simon 
found  himself  beaten,  torn,  bruised,  rolled  on  the 
ground  in  the  middle  of  the  ring  of  applauding  little 
vagabonds.  As  he  arose,  mechanically  brushing  his 
little  blouse  all  covered  with  dust  with  his  hand, 
some  one  shouted  at  him: 

"Go  and  tell  your  papa." 

He  then  felt  a  great  sinking  in  his  heart.  They 
were  stronger  than  he,  they  had  beaten  him  and  he 
had  no  answer  to  give  them,  for  he  knew  it  was 
true  that  he  had  no  papa.  Full  of  pride  he  tried  for 
some  moments  to  struggle  against  the  tears  which 
were  suffocating  him.  He  had  a  choking  fit,  and 
then  without  cries  he  began  to  weep  with  great  sobs 
which  shook  him  incessantly.  Then  a  ferocious  joy 
broke  out  among  his  enemies,  and,  just  like  savages 
in  fearful  festivals,  they  took  one  another  by  the  hand 
and  danced  in  a  circle  about  him  as  they  repeated  in 
refrain: 

"No  papa!   No  papa!" 

But  suddenly  Simon  ceased  sobbing.  Frenzy  over- 
took him.  There  were  stones  under  his  feet;  he 
picked    them    up    and   with    all    his    strength    hurled 


SIMON'S   PAPA  203 

them  at  his  tormentors.  Two  or  three  were  struck 
and  ran  away  yelling,  and  so  formidable  did  he  ap- 
pear that  the  rest  became  panic-stricken.  Cowards, 
like  a  jeering  crowd  in  the  presence  of  an  exasper- 
ated man,  they  broke  up  and  fled.  Left  alone,  the 
little  thing  without  a  father  set  off  running  toward 
the  fields,  for  a  recollection  had  been  awakened  which 
nerved  his  soul  to  a  great  determination.  He  made 
up  his  mind  to  drown  himself  in  the  river. 

He  remembered,  in  fact,  that  eight  days  ago  a  poor 
devil  who  begged  for  his  livelihood  had  thrown  him- 
self into  the  water  because  he  had  no  more  money. 
Simon  had  been  there  when  they  fished  him  out  again; 
and  the  sight  of  the  fellow,  who  had  seemed  to  him 
so  miserable  and  ugly,  had  then  impressed  him  —  his 
pale  cheeks,  his  long  drenched  beard,  and  his  open 
eyes  being  full  of  calm.     The  bystanders  had  said: 

"He  is  dead." 

And  some  one  had  added: 

"He  is  quite  happy  now." 

So  Simon  wished  to  drown  himself  also  because 
he  had  no  father,  just  as  the  wretched  being  did  who 
had  no  money. 

He  reached  the  water  and  watched  it  flowing. 
Some  fishes  were  rising  briskly  in  the  clear  stream 
and  occasionally  made  little  leaps  and  caught  the  flies 
on  the  surface.  He  stopped  crying  in  order  to  watch 
them,  for  their  feeding  interested  him  vastly.  But,  at 
intervals,  as  in  the  lulls  of  a  tempest,  when  tremen- 
dous gusts  of  wind  snap  off  trees  and  then  die  away, 
this  thought  would   return  to  him  with   intense  pain: 

"I  am  about  to  drown  myself  because  I  have  no 
papa." 


204  WORKS  OF  GUY  DE  MAUPASSANT 

It  was  very  warm  and  fine  weather.  The  pleasant 
sunshine  warmed  the  grass;  the  water  shone  hke  a 
mirror;  and  Simon  enjoyed  for  some  minutes  the  hap- 
piness of  that  languor  which  follows  weeping,  de- 
sirous even  of  falling  asleep  there  upon  the  grass  in 
the  warmth  of  noon, 

A  little  green  frog  leaped  from  under  his  fdet.  He 
endeavored  to  catch  it.  It  escaped  him.  He  pursued 
it  and  lost  it  three  times  following.  At  last  he  caught 
it  by  one  of  its  hind  legs  and  began  to  laugh  as  he 
saw  the  efforts  the  creature  made  to  escape.  It 
gathered  itself  up  on  its  large  legs  and  then  with  a 
violent  spring  suddenly  stretched  them  out  as  stiff  as 
two  bars. 

Its  eyes  stared  wide  open  in  their  round,  golden 
circle,  and  it  beat  the  air  with  its  front  limbs,  using 
them  as  though  they  were  hands.  It  reminded  him 
of  a  toy  made  with  straight  slips  of  wood  nailed  zig- 
zag one  on  the  other,  which  by  a  similar  movement 
regulated  the  exercise  of  the  little  soldiers  fastened 
thereon.  Then  he  thought  of  his  home  and  of  his 
mother,  and  overcome  by  great  sorrow  he  again  be- 
gan to  weep.  His  limbs  trembled;  and  he  placed 
himself  on  his  knees  and  said  his  prayers  as  before 
going  to  bed.  But  he  was  unable  to  finish  them,  for 
such  hurried   and  violent   sobs   overtook   him  that  he  '{ 

was  completely  overwhelmed.     He  thought  no  more,  ! 

he   no   longer  heeded   anything   around  him  but  was  I 

wholly  given  up  to  tears. 

Suddenly  a  heavy  hand  was  placed  upon  his  shoul- 
der, and  a  rough  voice  asked  him: 

"What   is   it   that   causes   you  so  much  grief,  my  , 

fine  fellow?"  ^ 


SIMON'S  PAPA  20*- 

Simon  turned  round.  A  tall  workman,  with  a 
black  beard  and  hair  all  curled,  was  staring  at  him 
good-naturedly.  He  answered  with  his  eyes  and 
throat  full  of  tears: 

"They  have  beaten  me  because  —  I  —  I  have  no 
papa  —  no  papa." 

"What!"  said  the  man  smiling,  " why,  everybody 
has  one." 

The  child  answered  painfully  amid  his  spasms  of 
grief: 

"But  I  — I  — I  have  none." 

Then  the  workman  became  serious.  He  had  rec- 
ognized La  Blanchotte's  son,  and  although  a  recent 
arrival  to  the  neighborhood  he  had  a  vague  idea  of  her 
history. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "console  yourself,  my  boy,  and 
come  with  me  home  to  your  mother.  She  will  give 
you  a  papa." 

And  so  they  started  on  the  way,  the  big  one 
holding  the  little  one  by  the  hand.  The  man  smiled 
afresh,  for  he  was  not  sorry  to  see  this  Blanchotte, 
who  by  popular  report  was  one  of  the  prettiest  girls 
in  the  country-side  —  and,  perhaps,  he  said  to  him- 
self, at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  that  a  lass  who  had 
erred  once  might  very  well  err  again. 

They  arrived  in  front  of  a  very  neat  little  white 
house. 

"There  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  child,  and  he  cried: 
"Mamma." 

A  woman  appeared,  and  the  workman  instantly 
left  off  smiling,  for  he  at  once  perceived  that  there 
was  no  more  fooling  to  be  done  with  the  tall  pale 
girl,  who   stood   austerely   at   her  door  as  though  to 


2o6  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

defend  from  one  man  the  threshold  of  that  house 
where  she  had  already  been  betrayed  by  another. 
Intimidated,  his  cap  in  his  hand,  he   stammered    out: 

"See,  Madame,  I  have  brought  you  back  your  httle 
boy,  who  had  lost  himself  near  the  river." 

But  Simon  flung  his  arms  about  his  mother's  ne'ck 
and  told  her,  as  he  again  began  to  cry: 

"No,  mamma,  I  wished  to  drown  myself,  because 
the  others  had  beaten  me  —  had  beaten  me  —  because 
I  have  no  papa." 

A  burning  redness  covered  the  young  woman's 
cheeks,  and,  hurt  to  the  quick,  she  embraced  her  child 
passionately,  while  the  tears  coursed  down  her  face. 
The  man,  much  moved,  stood  there,  not  knowing  how 
to  get  away.  But  Simon  suddenly  ran  to  him  and 
said: 

"Will  you  be  my  papa.?" 

A  deep  silence  ensued.  La  Blanchotte,  dumb  ancj 
tortured  with  shame,  leaned  against  the  wall,  her 
hands  upon  her  heart.  The  child,  seeing  that  no  an- 
swer was  made  him,  replied: 

"If  you  do  not  wish  it,  I  shall  return  to  drown 
myself." 

The  workman  took  the  matter  as  a  jest  and  an- 
swered laughing: 

"Why,  yes,  I  wish  it  certainly.". 

"What  is  your  name,  then,"  went  on  the  child, 
"so  that  1  may  tell  the  others  when  they  wish  to 
know  your  name?" 

"Philip,"  answered  the  man. 

Simon  was  silent  a  moment  so  that  he  might  get 
the  name  well  into  his  memory;  then  he  stretched 
out  his  arms,  quite  consoled,  and  said: 


SIMON'S   PAPA  207 

"Well,  then,  Philip,  you  are  my  papa." 

The  workman,  lifting  him  from  the  ground,  kissed 
him  hastily  on  both  cheeks,  and  then  strode  away 
quickly. 

When  the  child  returned  to  school  next  day  he 
was  received  with  a  spiteful  laugh,  and  at  the  end  of 
school,  when  the  lads  were  on  the  point  of  recom- 
mencing, Simon  threw  these  words  at  their  heads  as 
he  would  have  done  a  stone:  "He  is  named  Philip, 
my  papa." 

Yells  of  delight  burst  out  from  all  sides. 

"Philip  who?  Philip  what?  What  on  earth  is 
Philip?    Where  did  you  pick  up  your  Philip?" 

Simon  answered  nothing;  and  immovable  in  faith 
he  defied  them  with  his  eye,  ready  to  be  martyred 
rather  than  fly  before  them.  The  schoolmaster  came 
to  his  rescue  and  he  returned  home  to  his  mother. 

For  a  space  of  three  months,  the  tall  workman, 
Philip,  frequently  passed  by  La  Blanchotte's  house, 
and  sometimes  made  bold  to  speak  to  her  when  he 
saw  her  sewing  near  the  window.  She  answered 
him  civilly,  always  sedately,  never  joking  with  him, 
nor  permitting  him  to  enter  her  house.  Notwith- 
standing this,  being,  like  all  men,  a  bit  of  a  coxcomb, 
he  imagined  that  she  was  often  rosier  than  usual 
when  she  chatted  with  him. 

But  a  fallen  reputation  is  so  difficult  to  recover, 
and  always  remains  so  fragile  that,  in  spite  of  the 
shy  reserve  La  Blanchotte  maintained,  they  already 
gossiped   in   the   neighborhood. 

As  for  Simon,  he  loved  his  new  papa  much,  and 
walked  with  him  nearly  every  evening  when  the  day's 
work    was    done.     He   went   regularly  to   school   and 


2o8  WORKS  OF   GUY   DR   MAUPASSANT 

mixed  in  a  dignified  way  with  his  schoolfellows 
without   ever   answering   them    back. 

One  day,  however,  the  lad  who  had  first  attacked 
him   said   to   him: 

"You  have  lied.  You  have  not  a  papa  named 
Philip." 

"Why  do  you  say  that.?"  demanded  Simon,  much 
disturbed. 

The  youth  rubbed  his  hands.     He  replied: 

"  Because  if  you  had  one  he  would  be  your 
mamma's   husband." 

Simon  was  confused  by  the  truth  of  this  reason- 
ing;  nevertheless   he   retorted: 

"He  is  my  papa  all  the  same." 

"That  can  very  well  be,"  exclaimed  the  urchin 
with  a  sneer,  "but  that  is  not  being  your  papa  al- 
together." 

La  Blanchotte's  little  one  bowed  his  head  and  went 
off  dreaming  in  the  direction  of  the  forge  belonging 
to   old   Loizon,  where  Philip  worked. 

This  forge  was  entombed  in  trees.  It  was  very  dark 
there,  the  red  glare  of  a  formidable  furnace  alone  lit 
up  with  great  flashes  five  blacksmiths,  who  hammered 
upon  their  anvils  with  a  terrible  din.  Standing  envel- 
oped in  flame,  they  worked  like  demons,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  red-hot  iron  they  were  pounding;  and 
their  dull  ideas  rising  and  falling  with  their  hammers. 

Simon  entered  without  being  noticed  and  quietly 
plucked  his  friend  by  the  sleeve.  Philip  turned 
round.  All  at  once  the  work  came  to  a  standstill 
and  the  men  looked  on  very  attentively.  Then,  in 
the  midst  of  this  unaccustomed  silence,  rose  the  little 
slender  pipe  of  Simon: 


SIMON'S   PAPA  209 

*'  Philip,  explain  to  me  what  the  lad  at  la 
Michande  has  just  told  me,  that  you  are  not  al- 
together  my   papa." 

"And  why  that?"  asked  the  smith. 

The  child  replied  in  all  innocence: 

"  Because  you  are  not  my  mamma's  husband." 

No  one  laughed.  Philip  remained  standing,  lean- 
ing his  forehead  upon  the  back  of  his  great  hands, 
which  held  the  handle  of  his  hammer  upright  upon 
the  anvil.  He  mused.  His  four  companions  watched 
him,  and,  like  a  tiny  mite  among  these  giants,  Simon 
anxiously  waited.  Suddenly,  one  of  the  smiths,  voic- 
ing the  sentiment  of  all,  said  to  Philip: 

"All  the  same  La  Blanchotte  is  a  good  and  honest 
girl,  stalwart  and  steady  in  spite  of  her  misfortune, 
and  one  who  would  make  a  worthy  wife  for  an 
honest  man." 

"That  is  true,"  remarked  the  three  others. 

The  smith  continued: 

"Is  it  the  girl's  fault  if  she  has  fallen?  She  had 
been  promised  marriage,  and  I  know  more  than  one 
who  is  much  respected  to-day  and  has  sinned  every 
bit  as  much." 

"That  is  true,"  responded  the  three  men  in  chorus. 

He  resumed: 

"How  hard  she  has  toiled,  poor  thing,  to  educate 
her  lad  all  alone,  and  how  much  she  has  wept  since 
she  no  longer  goes  out,  save  to  church,  God  only 
knows." 

"That  also  is  true,"  said  the  others. 

Then  no  more  was  heard  save  the  roar  of  the  bel- 
lows which  fanned  the  fire  of  the  furnace.  Philip 
hastily  bent  himself  down  to  Simon: 

Muup.  I — ]4 


2  10  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT 

"Go  and  tell  your  mamma  that  I  shall  come  to 
speak  to  her." 

Then  he  pushed  the  child  out  by  the  shoulders. 
He  returned  to  his  work  and  in  unison  the  five  ham- 
mers again  fell  upon  their  anvils.  Thus  they  wrought 
the  iron  until  nightfall,  strong,  powerful,  happy,  like 
Vulcans  satisfied.  But  as  the  great  bell  of  a  cathedral 
resounds  upon  feast  days  above  the  jingling  of  the 
other  bells,  so  Philip's  hammer,  dominating  the  noise 
of  the  others,  clanged  second  after  second  with  a 
deafening  uproar.  His  eye  on  the  fire,  he  plied  his 
trade  vigorously,  erect  amid  the  sparks. 

The  sky  was  full  of  stars  as  he  knocked  at  La 
Blanchotte's  door.  He  had  his  Sunday  blouse  on,  a 
fresh  shirt,  and  his  beard  was  trimmed.  The  young 
woman  showed  herself  upon  the  threshold  and  said 
in  a  grieved  tone: 

"It  is  ill  to  come  thus  v/hen  night  has  fallen,  Mr. 
Philip." 

He  wished  to  answer,  but  stammered  and  stood 
confused  before  her. 

She  resumed: 

"And  you  understand  quite  well  that  it  will  not 
do  that  I  should  be  talked  about  any  more." 

Then  he  said  all  at  once: 

"What  does  that  matter  to  me,  if  you  will  be  my 
wife!" 

No  voice  replied  to  him.  but  he  believed  that  he 
heard  in  the  shadov/  of  the  room  the  sound  of  a 
body  falling.  He  entered  very  quickly;  and  Simon,  who 
had  gone  to  his  bed,  distinguished  the  sound  of  a 
kiss  and  some  words  that  his  mother  said  very  softly. 
Then    he   suddenly    found    himself   lifted    up    by   the 


SIMON'S   PAPA  211 

hands  of  his  friend,  who,  holding  him  at  the  length 
of  his  herculean  arms,  exclaimed  to  him: 

"You  will  tell  your  school-fellows  that  your  papa 
is  Philip  Remy,  the  blacksmith,  and  that  he  will  pull 
the  ears  of  ail  who  do  you  any  harm." 

On  the  morrow,  when  the  school  was  full  and 
lessons  were  about  to  begin,  little  Simon  stood  up 
quite  pale  with  trembling  lips: 

"My  papa,"  said  he  in  a  clear  voice,  "is  Philip 
Remy,  the  blacksmith,  and  he  has  promised  to  box 
the  ears  of  all  who  do  me  any  harm." 

This  time  no  one  laughed  any  longer,  for  he  was 
very  well  known,  was  Philip  Remy,  the  blacksmith, 
and  he  was  a  papa  of  whom  anyone  in  the  world 
would  be  proud. 


WAITER,    A    ''BOCK"* 


HY  on   this   particular  evening, 

did    I    enter    a     certain    beer 

shop  ?     I    cannot    explain    it. 

It  was  bitterly  cold.     A  fine  rain,  a 

watery  mist  floated  about,  veiling  the 

gas  jets  in  a  transparent  fog,  making 

the   pavements   under   the  shadow  of 

the  shop  fronts  glitter,  which  revealed 

the  soft  slush  and   the  soiled  feet  of  the 

passers-by. 

1  was  going  nowhere  in  particular;  was 
simply  having  a  short  walk  after  dinner. 
1  had  passed  the  Credit  Lyonnais,  the  Rue 
Vivienne,  and  several  other  streets.  Suddenly 
I  descried  a  large  cafe,  which  was  more  than  half 
full.  I  walked  inside,  with  no  object  in  mind.  I  was 
not  the  least  thirsty. 

By  a  searching  glance  I  detected  a  place  where  I 
would  not  be  too  much  crowded.  So  I  went  and  sat 
down  by  the  side  of  a  man  who  seemed  to  me  to  be 
old,  and  who  smoked    a  half-penny  clay  pipe,  which 


*  Bavarian  beer. 

(213) 


WAITER,    A    "BOCK"  21  ; 

had  become  as  black  as  coal.  From  six  to  eie;ht  beer 
saucers  were  piled  up  on  the  table  in  front  of  him, 
indicating  the  number  of  "bocks"  he  had  already 
absorbed.  With  that  same  glance  I  had  recognized 
in  him  a  "regular  toper,"  one  of  those  frequenters  of 
beer-houses,  who  come  in  the  morning  as  soon  as 
the  place  is  open,  and  only  go  away  in  the  evening 
when  it  is  about  to  close.  He  was  dirty,  bald  to 
about  the  middle  of  the  cranium,  while  his  long 
gray  haii  fell  over  the  neck  of  his  frock  coat.  His 
clothes,  much  too  large  for  him,  appeared  to  have 
been  made  for  him  at  a  time  when  he  was  very  stout. 
One  could  guess  that  his  pantaloons  were  not  held 
up  by  braces,  and  that  this  man  could  not  take  ten 
paces  without  having  to  pull  them  up  and  readjust 
them.  Did  he  wear  a  vest?  The  mere  thought  of 
his  boots  and  the  feet  they  enveloped  filled  me  with 
horror.  The  frayed  cuffs  were  as  black  at  the  edges 
as  were  his  nails. 

As  soon  as  I  had  sat  down  near  him,  this  queer 
creature   said   to    me   in   a  tranquil   tone  of  voice: 

"How  goes  it  with  you.?" 

I  turned  sharply  round  to  him  and  closely  scanned 
his  features,  whereupon  he  continued: 

"I  see  you  do  not  recognize  me." 

"No,   1  do  not." 

"Des  Barrets." 

I  was  stupefied.  It  was  Count  Jean  des  ^arrets, 
my  old  college  chum. 

I  seized  him  by  the  hand,  so  dumfounded  that  I 
could  find  nothing  to  say.  1,  at  length,  managed  to 
stammer  out: 

"And  you,  how  goes  it  with  you?" 


214  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

He  responded  placidly: 

''With  me?    Just  as  I  like." 

He  became  silent.  I  v/anted  to  be  friendly,  and  I 
selected  this  phrase: 

"What  are  you  doing  now?" 

"You  see  what  I  am  doing,"  he  answered,  quite 
resignedly. 

I  felt  my  face  getting  red.     I  insisted: 

"But  every  day?" 

"Every  day  is  alike  to  me,"  was  his  response,  ac- 
companied with  a  thick  puff  of  tobacco  smoke. 

He  then  tapped  on  the  top  of  the  marble  table 
with  a  sou,  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  waiter,  and 
called   out : 

"Waiter,  two  'bocks.'" 

A  voice  in  the  distance  repeated: 

"Two  'bocks,'  instead  of  four." 

Another  voice,  more  distant  still,  shouted  out: 

"Here  they  are,  sir,  here  they  are." 

Immediately  there  appeared  a  man  v/ith  a  white 
apron,  carrying  two  "bocks,"  which  he  set  down 
foaming  on  the  table,  the  foam  running  over  the 
edge,  on   to   the   sandy  floor. 

Des  Barrets  emptied  his  glass  at  a  single  draught 
and  replaced  it  on  the  table,  sucking  in  the  drops  of 
beer  that  had  been  left  on  his  mustache.  He  next 
asked: 

"What  is  there  new?" 

"1  know  of  nothing  new,  worth  mentioning, 
really,"  1  stammered:  "But  nothing  has  grown  old 
for  me;    1  am  a  commercial  man." 

In  an  equable  tone  of  voice,  he  said: 

"Indeed  —  does  that  amuse  you?" 


WAITER,    A    "BOCK"  21 5 

"No,  but  what  do  you  mean  by  that?  Surely  you 
must  do  something!" 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 
"I  only  mean,  how  do  you  pass  your  time!" 
"What's  the  use  of  occupying  myself  with  any- 
thing. For  my  part,  I  do  nothing  at  all,  as  you  see, 
never  anything.  When  one  has  not  got  a  sou  one 
can  understand  why  one  has  to  go  to  work.  What 
is  the  good  of  working?  Do  you  work  for  your- 
self, or  for  others  ?  If  you  work  for  yourself  you  do 
it  for  your  own  amusement,  which  is  all  right;  if 
you  work  for  others,  you  reap  nothing  but  ingrati- 
tude." 

Then  sticking  his  pipe  into  his  mouth,  he  called 
out  anew: 

"Waiter,  a  'bock.'  It  makes  me  thirsty  to  keep 
calling  so.  I  am  not  accustomed  to  that  sort  of  thing. 
Yes,  I  do  nothing;  1  let  things  slide,  and  I  am  grow- 
ing old.  In  dying  I  shall  have  nothing  to  regret.  If  so, 
I  should  remember  nothing,  outside  this  public-house. 
1  have  no  wife,  no  children,  no  cares,  no  sorrows, 
nothing.  That  is  the  very  best  thing  that  could  hap- 
pen to  one." 

He  then  emptied  the  glass  which  had  been  brought 
him,  passed  his  tongue  over  his  lips,  and  resumed  his 
pipe. 

I  looked  at  him  stupefied  and  asked  him: 
"But  you  have  not  always  been  like  that?" 
"Pardon  me,  sir;  ever  since  I  left  college." 
"It  is  not  a  proper  life  to  lead,  my  dear  sir;   it  is 
simply   horrible.     Come,  you   must   indeed  have  done 
something,  you  must  have  loved  something,  you  must 
have  friends." 


2l6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

"No;  I  get  up  at  noon,  I  come  here,  I  have  my 
breakfast,  I  clrink  my  'bock';  I  remain  until  the  even- 
ing, I  have  my  dinner,  I  drink  'bock.'  Then  about 
one  in  the  morning,  I  return  to  my  couch,  because 
the  place  closes  up.  And  it  is  this  latter  that  embit- 
ters me  more  than  anything.  For  the  last  ten  years, 
I  have  passed  six-tenths  of  my  time  on  this  bench, 
in  my  corner;  and  the  other  four-tenths  in  my  bed, 
never  changing.    I  talk  sometimes  with  the  habitues." 

"But  on  arriving  in  Paris  what  did  you  do  at 
first?" 

"I  paid  my  devoirs  to  the  Cafe  de  Medicis." 

"What  next?" 

"Next?     I  crossed  the  water  and  came  here." 

"Why  did  you  take  even  that  trouble?" 

"What  do  you  mean?  One  cannot  remain  all 
one's  life  in  the  Latin  Quarter.  The  students  make 
too  much  noise.  But  1  do  not  move  about  any 
longer.     Waiter,  a  'bock.'" 

I  now  began  to  think  that  he  was  making  fun  of 
me,  and  1  continued: 

"Come  now,  be  frank.  You  have  been  the  victim 
of  some  great  sorrow;  despair  in  love,  no  doubt!  It 
is  easy  to  see  that  you  are  a  man  whom  misfortune 
has  hit  hard.     What  age  are  you?" 

"I  am  thirty  years  of  age,  but  I  look  to  be  forty- 
five  at  least." 

I  looked  him  straight  in  the  face.  His  shrunken 
figure,  badly  cared  for,  gave  one  the  impression  that 
he  was  an  old  man.  On  the  summit  of  his  cranium, 
a  few  long  hairs  shot  straight  up  from  a  skin  of 
doubtful  cleanness.  He  had  enormous  .eyelashes,  a 
large  mustache,    and   a   thick   beard.     Suddenly  I  had 


WAITER,   A   "BOCK"  217 

a  kind  of  vision,  I  know  not  why  —  the  vision  of  a 
basin  filled  with  noisome  water,  the  water  which 
should  have  been  applied  to  that  poll.     1  said  to  him: 

"Verily,  you  look  to  be  more  than  that  age.  Of 
a  certainty  you  must  have  experienced  some  great 
disappointment." 

He  replied: 

"1  tell  you  that  I  have  not.  I  am  old  because  I 
never  take  air.  There  is  nothing  that  vitiates  the  life 
of  a  man  more  than  the  atmosphere  of  a  caf6." 

I  could  not  believe  him. 

"You  must  surely  have  been  married  as  well? 
One  could  not  get  as  baldheaded  as  you  are  without 
having  been  much  in  love." 

He  shook  his  head,  sending  down  his  back  little 
hairs  from  the  scalp: 

"No,  I  have  always  been  virtuous." 

And  raising  his  eyes  toward  the  luster,  which  beat 
down  on  our  heads,  he  said: 

"If  1  am  baldheaded,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  gas. 
It  is  the  enemy  of  hair.  Waiter,  a  'bock.'  You 
must  be  thirsty  also?" 

"No,  thank  you.  But  you  certainly  interest  me. 
When  did  you  have  your  first  discouragement? 
Your  life  is  not  normal,  is  not  natural.  There  is 
something  under  it  all." 

"Yes,  and  it  dates  from  my  infancy.  I  received 
a  heavy  blow  when  1  was  very  young.  It  turned 
my  life  into  darkness,  which  will  last  to  the  end." 

"How  did  it  come  about?" 

"You  wish  to  know  about  it?  Well,  then,  lis- 
ten. You  recall,  of  course,  the  castle  in  which  I  was 
brought  up,  seeing  'that  you  used  to   visit  it  for  five 


2l8  WORKS  OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

or  six  months  during  the  vacations  ?  You  remernber 
that  large,  gray  building  in  the  middle  of  a  great 
park,  and  the  long  avenues  of  oaks,  which  opened 
toward  the  four  cardinal  points!  You  remember  my 
father  and  rny  mother,  both  of  whom  were  ceremo- 
nious, solemn,  and  severe. 

"I  worshiped  my  mother;  I  was  suspicious  of 
my  father;  but  I  respected  both,  accustomed  always 
as  I  was  to  see  everyone  bow  beibrc  them.  In  the 
country,  they  were  Monsieur  le  Comte  and  Madame 
la  Comtesse;  and  our  neighbors,  the  Tannemares,  the 
Ravelets,  the  Brennevilles,  showed  the  utmost  consid- 
eration for  them. 

"I  was  then  thirteen  years  old,  happy,  satisfied 
with  everything,  as  one  is  at  that  age,  and  full  of 
joy  and  vivacity. 

"Now  toward  the  end  of  September,  a  few  days 
before  entering  the  Lycee,  while  1  was  enjoying  my- 
self in  the  mazes  of  the  park,  climbing  the  trees 
and  swinging  on  the  branches,  I  saw  crossing  an 
avenue  my  father  and  mother,  who  were  walking  to- 
gether. 

"I  recall  the  thing  as  though  it  were  yesterday. 
It  was  a  very  windy  day.  The  whole  line  of  trees 
bent  under  the  pressure  of  the  wind,  moaned  and 
seemed  to  utter  cries  —  cries  dull,  yet  deep  —  so  that 
the  whole  forest  groaned  under  the  gale. 

"Evening  had  come  on,  and  it  was  dark  in  the 
thickets.  The  agitation  of  the  wind  and  the  branches 
excited  me,  made  me  skip  about  like  an  idiot,  and 
howl  in  imitation  of  the  wolves. 

"As  soon  as  I  perceived  my  parents,  I  crept  fur- 
tively toward  them,  under  the   branches,  in  order   to 


WAITER,    A    "BOCK"  219 

surprise  them,  as  though  I  had  been  a  veritable  wolf. 
But  suddenly  seized  with  fear,  I  stopped  a  few  paces 
from  them.  My  father,  a  prey  to  the  most  violent 
passion,  cried: 

"'Your  mother  is  a  fool;  moreover,  it  is  not  your 
mother  that  is  the  question,  it  is  you.  I  tell  you 
'^hat  I  want  money,  and  I  will  make   you   sign   this.' 

"My  mother  responded  in  a  firm  voice: 

"'I  will  not  sign  it.  It  is  Jean's  fortune,  I  shall 
guard  it  for  him  and  I  will  not  allow  you  to  devour 
it  with  strange  women,  as  you  have  your  own  her- 
itage.' 

"Then  my  father,  full  of  rage,  wheeled  round  and 
seized  his  wife  by  the  throat,  and  began  to  slap  her 
full  in  the  face  with  the  disengaged  hand. 

"Mv  mother's  hat  fell  off,  her  hair  became  di- 
sheveled  and  fell  down  her  back:  she  essayed  to  parry 
the  blows,  but  could  not  escape  from  them.  And  my 
father,  like  a  madman,  banged  and  banged  at  her. 
My  mother  rolled  over  on  the  ground,  covering  her 
face  in  both  her  hands.  Then  he  turned  her  over  on 
her  back  in  order  to  batter  her  still  more,  pulling 
away  the  hands  which  were  covering  her  face. 

"As  for  me,  my  friend,  it  seemed  as  though  the 
world  had  come  to  an  end,  that  the  eternal  laws 
had  changed.  I  experienced  the  overwhelming  dread 
that  one  has  in  presence  of  things  supernatural,  in 
presence  of  irreparable  disaster.  My  boyish  head 
whirled  round  and  soared.  I  began  to  cry  with  all 
my  might,  without  knov/ing  why,  a  prey  to  terror, 
to  grief,  to  a  dreadful  bewilderment.  My  father 
heard  me,  turned  round,  and,  on  seeing  me,  made  as 
though    he    would    rush    at    me.     I    believed    that    he 


220  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

wanted  to  kill  me,  and  I   fled   like   a   hunted   animal, 
running  straight  in  front  of  me  through  the  woods. 

"1  ran  perhaps  for  an  hour,  perhaps  for  two,  I 
know  not.  Darkness  had  set  in,  I  tumbled  over 
some  thick  herbs,  exhausted,  and  I  lay  there  lost, 
devoured  by  terror,  eaten  up  by  a  sorrow  capable 
of  breaking  forever  the  heart  of  a  child.  I  became 
cold,  1  became  hungry.  At  length  day  broke.  I 
dared  neither  get  up,  walk,  return  home,  nor  save 
myself,  fearing  to  encounter  my  father  whom  I  did 
not  wish  to  see  again. 

"I  should  probably  have  died  of  misery  and  of 
hunger  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  if  the  guard  had  not 
discovered  me  and  led  me  away  by  force. 

"1  found  my  parents  wearing  their  ordinary  aspect. 
My  mother  alone  spoke  to  me: 

"'How  you  have  frightened  me,  you  naughty  boy; 
I  have  been  the  whole  night  sleepless.' 

"I  did  not  answer,  but  began  to  weep.  My 
father  did  not  utter  a  single  word. 

"Eight  days  later  I  entered  the  Lycee. 

"Well,  my  friend,  it  was  all  over  with  me.  I  had 
witnessed  the  other  side  of  things,  the  bad  side;  I 
have  not  been  able  to  perceive  the  good  side  since 
that  day.  What  things  have  passed  in  my  mind, 
what  strange  phenomena  have  warped  my  ideas,  I  do 
not  know.  But  I  no  longer  have  a  taste  for  anything, 
a  wish  for  anything,  a  love  for  anybody,  a  desire  for 
anything  whatever,  no  ambition,  no  hope.  And  1  can 
always  see  my  poor  mother  lying  on  the  ground,  in. 
the  avenue,  while  my  father  was  maltreating  her. 
My  mother  died  a  few  years  after;  my  father  lives 
stifl.     I  have  not  seen  him  since.     Waiter,  a  'bock.'" 


WAITER,    A    "BOCK"  221 

A  waiter  brought  him  his  "bock,"  which  he  swal- 
Icwed  at  a  gulp.  But,  in  taking  up  his  pipe  again, 
trembling  as  he  was,  he  broke  it.  Then  he  made  a 
violent   gesture: 

"Zounds!  This  is  indeed  a  grief,  a  real  grief.  I 
have  had  it  for  a  month,  and  it  was  coloring  so 
beautifully!" 

Then  he  went  off  through  the  vast  saloon,  which 
was  now  full  of  smoke  and  of  people  drinking,  call- 
ing out: 

"Waiter,  a  *  bock '-—and  a  new  pipe."_ 


THE 
SEQJJEL    TO    A     DIVORCE 


ERTAiNLY,  although  he  had  been  en- 
gaged in  the  most  extraordinary, 
most  anhivcly,  most  extravagant, 
and  funniest  cases,  and  had  won 
legal  games  without  a  trump  in  his 
hand  —  although  he  had  worked  out 
the  obscure  law  of  divorce,  as  if  it  had 
been  a  Californian  gold  mine,  Maitre* 
Garrulier,  the  celebrated,  the  only  Garrulier, 
K  21-  B  could  not  check  a  movement  of  surprise, 
^^•7^  nor  a  disheartening  shake  of  the  head,  nor 
a  smile,  when  the  Countess  de  Baudemont  ex- 
plained her  affairs  to  him  for  the  first  time. 
He  had  just  opened  his  correspondence,  and 
his  slender  hands,  on  which  he  bestowed  the  greatest 
attention,  buried  themselves  in  a  heap  of  female  let- 
ters, and  one  might  have  thought  oneself  in  the  con- 
fessional of  a  fashionable  preacher,  so  impregnated 
was  the  atmosphere  with  delicate  perfumes. 


•Title  given  to  advocates  in  France. 
(222) 


THE   SEQUEL  TO   A   DIVORCE  22? 

Immediately  —  even  before  she  had  said  a  word  — 
with  the  sharp  glance  of  a  practised  man  of  the 
world,  that  look  which  made  beautiful  Madame  de 
Serpenoise  say:  "He  strips  your  heart  bare!"  the 
lawyer  had  classed  her  in  the  third  category.  Those 
who  suffer  came  into  his  first  category,  those  who 
love,  into  the  second,  and  those  v/ho  are  bored,  into 
the  third  —  and  she  belonged  to  the  latter. 

She  was  a  pretty  windmill,  whose  sails  turned  and 
flew  round,  and  fretted  the  blue  sky  with  a  delicious 
shiver  of  joy,  as  it  were,  and  had  the  brain  of  a  bird, 
in  which  four  correct  and  healthy  ideas  cannot  exist 
side  by  side,  and  in  which  all  dreams  and  every  kind 
of  folly  are  engulfed,  like  a  great  kaleidoscope. 

Incapable  of  hurting  a  fly,  emotional,  charitable, 
with  a  feeling  of  tenderness  for  the  street  girl  who 
sells  bunches  of  violets  for  a  penny,  for  a  cab  horse 
which  a  driver  is  ill-using,  for  a  melancholy  pauper's 
funeral,  when  the  body,  without  friends  or  relations 
to  follow  it,  is  being  conveyed  to  the  common  grave, 
doing  anything  that  might  afford  five  minutes' 
amusement,  not  caring  if  she  made  men  miserable  for 
the  rest  of  their  days,  and  taking  pleasure  in  kindling 
passions  which  consumed  men's  whole  being,  look- 
ing upon  life  as  too  short  to  be  anything  else  than 
one  uninterrupted  round  of  gaiety  and  enjoyment,  she 
thought  that  people  might  find  plenty  of  time  for 
being  serious  and  reasonable  in  the  evening  of  life, 
when  they  are  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  and  their 
lookinp-Ldasses  reveal  a  wrinkled  face,  surrounded 
with  v/hite  hair. 

A  thorough-bred  Parisian,  whom  one  would  follow 
to   the    end    of  the    world,  like    a    poodle;    a    woman 


224  WORKS   OF    GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

whom  one  adores  with  the  head,  the  heart,  and  the 
senses  until  one  is  nearly  driven  mad,  as  soon  as  one 
has  inhaled  the  delicate  perfume  that  emanates  from 
her  dress  and  hair,  or  touched  her  skin,  and  heard 
her  laugh;  a  woman  for  whom  one  would  fight  a 
duel  and  risk  one's  life  without  a  thought;  for  whom 
a  man  would  remove  mountains,  and  sell  his  soul  to 
the  devil  several  times  over,  if  the  devil  were  still  in 
the  habit  of  frequenting  the  places  of  bad  repute  on 
this  earth. 

She  had  perhaps  come  to  see  this  Garrulier,  whom 
she  had  so  often  heard  mentioned  at  five  o'clock  teas, 
so  as  to  be  able  to  describe  him  to  her  female 
friends  subsequently  in  droll  phrases,  imitating  his 
gestures  and  the  unctuous  inflections  of  his  voice, 
in  order,  perhaps,  to  experience  some  new  sensation, 
or,  perhaps,  for  the  sake  of  dressing  like  a  woman 
who  was  going  to  try  for  a  divorce;  and,  certainly, 
the  whole  effect  was  perfect.  She  wore  a  splendid 
cloak  embroidered  with  jet  —  which  gave  an  almost 
serious  effect  to  her  golden  hair,  to  her  small  slightly 
turned-up  nose,  with  its  quivering  nostrils,  and  to  her 
large  eyes,  full  of  enigma  and  fun  —  over  a  dark  stuff 
dress,  which  was  fastened  at  the  neck  by  a  sapphire 
and  a  diamond  pin. 

The  barrister  did  not  interrupt  her,  but  allowed 
her  to  get  excited  and  to  chatter,  to  enumerate  her 
causes  for  complaint  against  poor  Count  de  Baude- 
mont,  who  certainly  had  no  suspicion  of  his  wife's 
escapade,  and  who  would  have  been  very  much 
surprised  if  anyone  had  told  him  of  it  at  that  mo- 
ment, when  he  was  taking  his  fencing  lesson  at 
the  club. 


THE  SEQUEL  TO   A    DIVORCE  225 

When  she  had  quite  finished,  he  said  coolly,  as  if 
he  were  throwing  a  pail  of  water  on  some  burning 
straw : 

"But,  Madame,  there  is  not  the  sHghtest  pretext 
for  a  divorce  in  anything  that  you  have  told  me 
here.  The  judges  would  ask  me  whether  I  took  the 
Law  Courts  for  a  theater,  and  intended  to  make  fun 
of  them." 

And  seeing  how  disheartened  she  was, — that  she 
looked  like  a  child  whose  favorite  toy  had  been 
broken,  that  she  was  so  pretty  that  he  would  have 
liked  to  kiss  her  hands  in  his  devotion,  and  as  she 
seemed  to  be  witty,  and  very  amusing,  and  as,  more- 
over, he  had  no  objection  to  such  visits  being  pro- 
longed, when  papers  had  to  be  looked  over,  while 
sitting  close  together, —  Maitre  Garrulier  appeared  to  be 
considering.     Taking  his  chin  in  his  hand,  he  said: 

"However,  I  will  think  it  over;  there  is  sure  to 
be  some  dark  spot  that  can  be  made  out  worse. 
Write  to  me,  and  come  and  see  me  again." 

In  the  course  of  her  visits,  that  black  spot  had 
increased  so  much,  and  Madame  de  Baudemont  had 
followed  her  lawyer's  advice  so  punctually,  and  had 
played  on  the  various  strings  so  skillfully  that  a  few 
months  later,  after  a  lawsuit,  which  is  still  spoken  of  in 
the  Courts  of  Justice,  and  during  the  course  of  which 
the  President  had  to  take  off  his  spectacles,  and  to 
use  his  pocket-handkerchief  noisily,  the  divorce  was 
pronounced  in  favor  of  the  Countess  Marie  Anne 
Nicole  Bournct  de  Baudemont,  ndc  de  Tanchart  de 
Peothus. 

The  Count,  who  was  nonplussed  at  such  an  ad- 
venture turning  out  so  seriously,  first  of  all  flew  into 
Muijp.  1 — 15 


226  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT 

a  terrible  rage,  rushed  off  to  the  lawyer's  office  and 
threatened  to  cut  off  his  knavish  ears  for  him.  But 
when  his  access  of  fury  was  over,  and  he  thought 
of  it,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said: 

"All  the  better  for  her,  if  it  amuses  her!" 

Then  he  bought  Baron  Silberstein's  yacht,  and  with 
some  friends,  got  up  a  cruise  to  Ceylon  and  India. 

Marie  Anne  began  by  triumphing,  and  felt  as 
happy  as  a  schoolgirl  going  home  for  the  holidays; 
she  committed  every  possible  folly,  and  soon,  tired, 
satiated,  and  disgusted,  began  to  yawn,  cried,  and 
found  oat  that  she  had  sacrificed  her  happiness,  like 
a  millionaire  who  has  gone  mad  and  has  cast  his 
banknotes  and  shares  into  the  river,  and  that  she 
was  nothing  more  than  a  disabled  waif  and  stray. 
Consequently,  she  now  married  again,  as  the  solitude 
of  her  home  made  her  morose  from  morning  till 
night;  and  then,  besides,  she  found  a  woman  requires 
a  mansion  when  she  goes  into  society,  to  race  meet- 
ings, or  to  the  theater. 

And  so,  while  she  became  a  marchioness,  and  pro- 
nounced her  second  "Yemf'i  before  a  very  few  friends, 
at  the  office  of  the  mayor  of  the  English  urban  dis- 
trict, malicious  people  in  the  Faubourg  were  making 
fun  of  the  whole  affair,  and  affirming  this  and  that, 
whether  rightly  or  wrongly,  and  comparing  the  pres- 
ent husband  to  the  former  one,  even  declaring  that 
he  had  partially  been  the  cause  of  the  former  divorce. 
Meanwhile  Monsieur  de  Baudemont  was  wandering 
over  the  four  quarters  of  the  globe  trying  to  overcome 
his  homesickness,  and  to  deaden  his  longing  for  love, 
which  had  taken  possession  of  his  heart  and  of  his 
body,  like  a  slow  poison. 


THE  SEQUEL   TO   A    DIVORCE  22^] 

He  traveled  through  the  most  out-of-the-way  places, 
and  the  most  lovely  countries,  and  spent  months  and 
months  at  sea,  and  plunged  into  every  kind  of  dis- 
sipation and  debauchery.  But  neither  the  supple 
forms  nor  the  luxurious  gestures  of  the  bayaderes, 
nor  the  large  passive  eyes  of  the  Creoles,  nor  flirta- 
tions with  English  girls  with  hair  the  color  of  new 
cider,  nor  nights  of  waking  dreams,  when  he  saw 
new  constellations  in  the  sky,  nor  dangers  during 
which  a  man  thinks  it  is  all  over  with  him,  and  mut- 
ters a  few  words  of  prayer  in  spite  of  himself,  when 
the  waves  are  high,  and  the  sky  black,  nothing  was 
able  to  make  him  forget  that  little  Parisian  woman 
who  smelled  so  sweet  that  she  might  have  been  taken 
for  a  bouquet  of  rare  flowers;  who  was  so  coaxing, 
so  curious,  so  funny;  who  never  had  the  same  ca- 
price, the  same  smile,  or  the  same  look  twice,  and 
who,  at  bottom,  v/as  worth  more  than  many  others, 
either   saints   or  sinners. 

He  thought  of  her  constantly,  during  long  hours 
of  sleeplessness.  He  carried  her  portrait  about  with 
him  in  the  breast  pocket  of  his  pea-jacket  —  a  charm- 
ing portrait  in  which  she  was  smiling,  and  showing 
her  white  teeth  between  her  half-open  lips.  Her 
gentle  eyes  with  their  magnetic  look  had  a  happy, 
frank  expression,  and  from  the  mere  arrangement  of 
her  hair,  one  could  see  that  she  was  fair  among  the 
fair. 

He  used  to  kiss  that  portrait  of  the  woman  who 
had  been  his  wife  as  if  he  wished  to  efface  it, 
would  look  at  it  for  hours,  and  then  throw  himself 
down  on  the  netting  and  sob  like  a  ciiild  as  he 
looked  at  the  infinite  expanse  before  him,  seeming  to 


236  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

see  their  lost  happiness,  the  joys  of  their  perished 
affections,  and  the  divine  remembrance  of  their  love, 
in  the  monotonous  waste  of  green  waters.  And  he 
tried  to  accuse  himself  for  all  that  had  occurred,  and 
not  to  be  angry  with  her,  to  think  that  his  grievances 
were  imaginary,  and  to  adore  her  in  spite  of  every- 
thing and  always. 

And  so  he  roamed  about  the  world,  tossed  to  and 
fro,  suffering  and  hoping  he  knew  not  what.  He 
ventured  into  the  greatest  dangers,  and  sought  for 
death  just  as  a  man  seeks  for  his  mistress,  and  death 
passed  close  to  him  without  touching  him,  perhaps 
amused  at  his  grief  and  misery. 

For  he  was  as  wretched  as  a  stone-breaker,  as 
one  of  those  poor  devils  who  work  and  nearly  break 
their  backs  over  the  hard  flints  the  whole  day  long, 
under  the  scorching  sun  or  the  cold  rain;  and  Marie 
Anne  herself  was  not  happy,  for  she  was  pining  for 
the  past  and  remembered  their  former  love. 

At  last,  however,  he  returned  to  France,  changed, 
tanned  by  exposure,  sun,  and  rain,  and  transformed 
as  if  by  some  witch's  philter. 

Nobody  would  have  recognized  the  elegant  and 
effeminate  clubman,  in  this  corsair  with  broad  shoul- 
ders, a  skin  the  color  of  tan,  with  very  red  lips, 
who  rolled  a  little  in  his  walk;  who  seemed  to  be 
stifled  in  his  black  dress-coat,  but  who  still  retained 
the  distinguished  manners  and  bearing  of  a  nobleman 
of  the  last  century,  one  of  those  who,  when  he  was 
ruined,  fitted  out  a  privateer,  and  fell  upon  the  Eng- 
lish wherever  he  met  them,  from  St.  Malo  to  Cal- 
cutta. And  wherever  he  showed  himself  his  friends 
exclaimed : 


THE   SEQUEL   TO   A    DIVORCE  229 

"Why!  Is  that  you?  I  should  never  have  known 
you  again!" 

He  was  very  nearly  starting  off  again  immediately; 
he  even  telegraphed  orders  to  Havre  to  get  the 
steam-yacht  ready  for  sea  directly,  when  he  heard 
that  Marie  Anne  had  married  again. 

He  saw  her  in  the  distance,  at  the  Theatre  Fran- 
^ais  one  Tuesday,  and  when  he  noticed  how  pretty, 
how  fair,  how  desirable  she  was, —  looking  so  melan- 
choly, with  all  the  appearance  of  an  unhappy  soul  that 
regrets  something, —  his  determination  grew  weaker, 
and  he  delayed  his  departure  from  week  to  week, 
and  waited,  without  knowing  why,  until,  at  last, 
worn  out  with  the  struggle,  watching  her  wherever 
she  went,  more  in  love  with  her  than  he  had  ever 
been  before,  he  wrote  her  long,  mad,  ardent  letters 
in  which  his  passion  overflowed  like  a  stream  of  lava. 

He  altered  his  handwriting,  as  he  remembered 
her  restless  brain,  and  her  many  whims.  He  sent 
her  the  flowers  which  he  knew  she  liked  best,  and 
told  her  that  she  was  his  life,  that  he  was  dying  of 
waiting  for  her,  of  longing  for  her,  for  her  his  idol. 

At  last,  very  much  puzzled  and  surprised,  guess- 
ing—  wlio  knows?  —  from  the  instinctive  beating  of 
her  heart,  and  her  general  emotion,  that  it  must  be  he 
this  time,  he  whose  soul  she  had  tortured  with  such 
cold  cruelty,  and  knowing  that  she  could  make  amends 
for  the  past  and  bring  back  their  former  love,  she 
replied  to  him,  and  granted  him  the  meeting  that  he 
asked  for.  She  fell  into  his  arms,  and  they  both 
.'.obbed  with  joy  and  ecstasy.  Their  kisses  were  those 
which  lips  give  only  when  they  have  lost  each  other 
and  found  each  other   again    at   last,  when  they  meet 


230  WORKS   OF    GUY   DE    MAUPASSANT 

and  exhaust   themselves  in  each    other's  looks,  thirst- 
ing for  tenderness,  love,  and  enjoyment. 

Last  week  Count  de  Baudemont  carried  off  Marie 
Anne  quietly  and  coolly,  just  like  one  resumes  pos- 
session of  one's  house  on  returning  from  a  journey, 
and  drives  out  the  intruders.  And  when  Maitre 
Garrulier  was  told  of  this  unheard  of  scandal,  he 
rubbed  his  hands  —  the  long,  delicate  hands  of  a  sen^ 
sual  prelate  —  and  exclaimed: 

"That  is  absolutely  logical,  and  I  should  like  to 
be  in  their  place." 


THE    MAD    WOMAN 


I 


CAN  tell  you  a  terrible  story  about 
the  Franco-Prussian  war,"  Monsieur 
d'Endolin  said  to  some  friends 
assembled  in  the  smoking-room  of 
Baron  de  Ravot's  chateau.  "You 
know  my  house  in  the  Faubourg  de 
Cormeil.  1  was  living  there  when 
the  Prussians  came,  and  1  had  for  a 
eighbor  a  kind  of  mad  woman,  who 
d  lost  her  senses  in  consequence  of  a 
series  of  misfortunes.  At  the  age  of  seven 
and  twenty  she  had  lost  her  father,  her 
husband,  and  her  newly  born  child,  all  in  the 
space  of  a  mont-h. 
"When  death  has  once  entered  into  a  house,  it 
almost  invariably  returns  immediately,  as  if  it  knew 
the  way,  and  the  young  woman,  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  took  to  her  bed  and  was  delirious  for  six  weeks. 
Then  a  species  of  calm  lassitude  succeeded  that  vio- 
lent crisis,  and  she  remained  motionless,  eating  next  to 
nothing,  and  only  moving  her  eyes.  Every  time  they 
tried  to  make  her  get  up,  she  screamed  as  if  they  were 

(231) 


c^S:-*-- 


23-i  THE  MAD  WOMAN 

about  to  kill  her,  and  so  they  ended  by  leaving  her 
continually  in  bed,  and  only  taking  her  out  to  wash 
her,  to  change  her  linen,  and  to  turn  her  mattress. 

"An  old  servant  remained  with  her,  to  give  her 
something  to  drink,  or  a  little  cold  meat,  from  time 
to  time.  What  passed  in  that  despairing  mind  ?  No 
one  ever  knew,  for  she  did  not  speak  at  all  now. 
Was  she  thinking  of  the  dead  ?  Was  she  dreaming 
sadly,  without  any  precise  recollection  of  anything 
that  had  happened  ?  Or  v/as  her  memory  as  stagnant 
as  water  without  any  current?  But  however  this 
may  have  been,  for  fifteen  years  she  remained  thus 
inert  and  secluded. 

"The  war  broke  out,  and  in  the  beginning  of  De- 
cember the  Germans  came  lo  Cormeil.  I  can  re- 
member it  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.  It  was  freezing 
hard  enough  to  split  the  stones,  and  I  myself  was 
lying  back  in  an  armchair,  being  unable  to  move  on 
account  of  the  gout,  when  I  heard  their  heavy  and 
regular  tread,  and  could  see  them  pass  from  my 
window. 

"They  defiled  past  interminably,  with  that  peculiar 
motion  of  a  puppet  on  wires,  which  belongs  to  them. 
Then  the  officers  billeted  their  men  on  the  inhab- 
itants, and  I  had  seventeen  of  them.  My  neighbor, 
the  crazy  woman,  had  a  dozen,  one  of  whom  was 
the  Commandant,  a  regular  violent,  surly  swash- 
buckler. 

"During  the  first  few  days,  everything  went  on  as 
usual.  The  officers  next  door  had  been  told  that  the 
lady  was  ill,  and  they  did  not  trouble  themselves 
about  that  in  the  least,  but  soon  that  woman  whom 
they    never    saw    irritated    them.     They   asked   what 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT 


•7  } 


her  illness  was,  and  were  told  that  she  had  beer  m 
bed  for  fifteen  years,  in  consequence  of  terrible  grief 
No  doubt  they  did  not  believe  it,  and  tiious'.ht  that 
the  poor  mad  creature  would  not  leave  her  bed  out 
of  pride,  so  that  she  might  not  come  near  the  Prus- 
sians, or  speak  to  them  or  even  see  them. 

"The  Commandant  insisted  upon  her  receiving 
him.  He  was.  shown  into  the  room  and  said  to  her 
roughly:  'I  must  beg  you  to  get  up,  Madame,  and 
to  come  downstairs  so  that  we  may  all  see  you.' 
But  she  merely  turned  her  vague  eyes  on  him,  With- 
out replying,  and  so  he  continued:  '1  do  not  intend 
to  tolerate  any  insolence,  and  if  you  do  not  get  up  of 
your  own  accord,  I  can  easily  find  means  to  make 
you  walk  without  any  assistance.' 

"But  she  did  not  give  any  signs  of  having  heard 
him,  and  remained  quite  motionless.  Then  he  got 
furious,  taking  that  calm  silence  for  a  mark  of  su- 
preme contempt;  so  he  added:  '  If  you  do  not  come 
downstairs  to-morrow — '     And  then  he  left  the  room. 

"The  next  day  the  terrified  old  servant  wished  to 
dress  her,  but  the  mad  woman  began  to  scream  vio- 
lently, and  resisted  with  all  her  miglit.  The  officer 
ran  upstairs  quickly,  and  the  servant  threw  herself  at 
his  feet  and  cried:  'She  will  not  come  down.  Mon- 
sieur, she  will  not.  Forgive  her,  for  she  is  so  un- 
happy.' 

'The  soldier  was  embarrassed,  as  in  spite  of  his 
anger,  he  did  not  venture  to  order  his  soldiers  to 
drag  her  out.  But  suddenly  he  began  to  laugh,  and 
gave  some  orders  in  German,  and  soon  a  party  of 
soldiers  was   seen    coming   out   supporting  a  mattress 


234  THE   MAD   WOMAN 

as  if  they  were  carrying  a  wounded  man.  On  that 
bed,  which  had  not  been  unmade,  the  mad  woman, 
who  was  still  silent,  was  lying  quite  quietly,  for  she 
was  quite  indifferent  to  anything  that  went  on,  as 
long  as  they  let  her  lie.  Behind  her,  a  soldier  was 
carrying  a  parcel  of  feminine  attire,  and  the  officer 
said,  rubbing  his  hands:  *We  will  just  see  whether 
you  cannot  dress  yourself  alone,  and  take  a  little  v/alk/ 
"And  then  the  procession  went  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  forest  of  Imauville;  in  two  hours  the  soldiers 
came  back  alone,  and  nothing  more  was  seen  of  the 
mad  woman.  What  had  they  done  with  her?  Where 
had  they  taken  her  to  ?    No  one  knew. 

"The  snow  was  falling  day  and  night,  and  envel- 
oped the  plain  and  the  woods  in  a  shroud  of  frozen 
foam,  and  the  wolves  came  and  howled  at  our  very 
doors. 

"The  thought  of  that  poor  lost  woman  haunted 
me,  and  i  made  several  applications  to  the  Prussian 
authorities  in  order  to  obtain  some  information,  and 
was  nearly  shot  for  doing  so.  When  spring  returned, 
the  army  of  occupation  withdrew,  but  my  neighbor's 
house  remained  closed,  and  the  grass  grew  thick  in 
the  garden  walks.  The  old  servant  had  died  during 
the  winter,  and  nobody  troubled  any  longer  about 
the  occurrence;  I  alone  thought  about  it  constantly. 
What  had  they  done  with  the  woman  ?  Had  she 
escaped  through  the  forest?  Had  somebody  found 
her,  and  taken  her  to  a  hospital,  without  being  able 
to  obtain  any  information  from  her?  Nothing  hap- 
pened to  relieve  my  doubts;  but  by  degrees,  time 
assuaged  my  fears. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  235 

"Well,  in  the  following  autumn  the  woodcock  were 
very  plentiful,  and  as  my  gout  had  left  me  for  a  time, 
I  dragged  myself  as  far  as  the  forest.  1  had  already 
killed  four  or  five  of  the  long-billed  birds,  when  I 
knocked  over  one  which  fell  into  a  ditch  full  of 
branches,  and  I  was  obliged  to  get  into  it,  in  order  to 
pick  it  up,  and  I  found  that  it  had  fallen  close  to  a 
dead,  human  body.  Immediately  the  recollection  of 
the  mad  woman  struck  me  hke  a  blow  in  the  chest. 
Many  other  people  had  perhaps  died  in  the  wood 
during  that  disastrous  year,  but  though  I  do  not  know 
why,  I  was  sure,  sure,  I  tell  you,  that  I  should  see  the 
head  of  that  wretched  maniac. 

"And  suddenly  I  understood,  I  guessed  everything. 
They  had  abandoned  her  on  that  mattress  in  the  cold, 
deserted  wood;  and,  faithful  to  her  fixed  idea,  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  perish  under  that  thick  and  light 
counterpane  of  snow,  without  moving  either  arms  or 

Ipcrc 

.  "Then  the  wolves  had  devoured  her,  and  the  birds 
had  built  their  nests  with  the  wool  from  her  torn 
bed,  and  I  took  charge  of  her  bones.  I  only  pray 
*hat  OLU'  sons  may  never  see  any  wars  again." 


IN    VARIOUS    ROLES 


j-''^?^  ^Si'  T  N  THE  following  reminiscences  will  fre- 
^■is'^p^^  I  qiiently  be  mentioned  a  lady  who 
wJ!^"^'"^^  X  pl-^iyed  a  great  part  in  the  annals  of 
the  police  from  1848  to  1866.  We 
will  call  her  "Wanda  von  Chabert." 
Born  in  Galicia  of  German  parents,  and 
carefully  brought  up  in  every  way,  when 
only  sixteen  she  married,  from  love,  a 
rich  and  handsome  officer  of  noble  birth. 
The  young  couple,  however,  Hved  beyond 
their  means,  and  when  the  husband  died 
suddenly,  two  years  after  they  were  married, 
she  was  left  anything  but  well  off. 
As  Wanda  had  grown  accustomed  to  luxury 
and  amusement,  a  quiet  life  in  her  parents'  house  did 
not  suit  her  any  longer.  Even  while  she  was  still  in 
mourning  for  her  husband,  she  allowed  a  Hungarian 
magnate  to  make  love  to  her.  She  went  off  with 
him  at  a  venture,  and  continued  the  same  extrava- 
gant life  which  she  had  led  when  her  husband  was 
alive,  of  her  own  volition.  At  the  end  of  two  years, 
however,  her  lover  left  her  in  a  town  in  North  Italy, 
almost  without  means.  She  was  thinking  of  going 
(236) 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  237 

on  the  stage,  when  chance  provided  her  with  another 
resource,  which  enabled  her  to  reassert  her  position 
in  society.  She  became  a  secret  pohce  agent,  and 
soon  was  one  of  their  most  valuable  members,  in 
addition  to  the  proverbial  charm  and  wit  of  a  Polish 
woman,  she  also  possessed  high  linguistic  attain- 
ments, and  spoke  Polish,  Russian,  French,  German, 
English,  and  Italian,  with  almost  equal  fluency  and  cor- 
rectness. Then  she  had  that  encyclopedic  polish  which 
impresses  people  much  more  than  the  most  profound 
learning  of  the  specialist.  She  was  very  attractive  in 
appearance,  and  she  knew  how  to  set  off  her  good 
looks  by  all  the  arts  of  dress  and  coquetry. 

In  addition  to  this,  she  was  a  woman  of  the 
world  in  the  widest  sense  of  the  term;  pleasure- 
loving,  faithless,  unstable,  and  therefore  never  in  any 
danger  of  really  losing  her  heart,  and  consequently 
her  head.  She  used  to  change  the  place  of  her 
abode,  according  to  what  she  had  to  do.  Sometimes 
she  lived  in  Paris  among  the  Polish  emigrants,  in 
order  to  find  out  what  they  were  doing,  and  main- 
tained intimate  relations  with  the  Tuileries  and  the 
Palais  Royal  at  the  same  time;  sometimes  she  went 
to  London  for  a  short  time,  or  hurried  off  to  Italy  to 
watch  the  Hungarian  exiles,  only  to  reappear  suddenly 
in  Switzerland,  or  at  one  of  the  fashionable  German 
watering-places. 

In  revolutionary  circles,  she  was  looked  upon  as 
an  active  member  of  the  great  League  of  Freedom, 
and  diplomatists  regarded  her  as  an  influential  friend 
of  Napoleon  111. 

She  knew  everyone,  but  especially  those  men 
whose  names  were  to  be  met  with  every  day  in  the 


238  IN   VARIOUS   ROLES 

journals,  and  she  counted  Victor  Emmanuel,  Rouher, 
Gladstone,  and  GortschakofF  among  her  friends  as 
well  as  Mazzini,  Kossuth,  Garibaldi,  Mieroslawsky, 
and  Bakunin. 

In  the  spring  of  185-  she  was  at  Vevey  on  the 
lovely  lake  of  Geneva,  and  went  into  raptures  when 
talking  to  an  old  German  diplomatist  about  the 
beauties  of  nature,  and  about  Calame,  Stifter,  and 
Turgenev,  whose  "Diary  of  a  Hunter,"  had  just  be- 
come fashionable.  One  day  a  man  appeared  at  the 
table  d'hote,  who  excited  unusual  attention,  and  hers 
especially,  so  that  there  was  nothing  strange  in  her 
asking  the  proprietor  of  the  hotel  what  his  name  was. 
She  was  told  that  he  was  a  wealthy  Brazilian,  and 
that  his  name  was  Don  Escovedo. 

Whether  it  was  an  accident,  or  whether  he  re- 
sponded to  the  interest  which  the  young  woman  felt 
for  him,  at  any  rate  she  constantly  met  him  where- 
ever  she  went,  whether  taking  a  walk,  or  on  the  lake 
or  looking  at  the  newspapers  in  the  reading-room. 
At  last  she  was  obliged  to  confess  to  herself  that  he 
was  the  handsomest  man  she  had  ever  seen.  Tall, 
slim,  and  yet  muscular,  the  young,  beardless  Brazilian 
had  a  head  which  any  woman  might  envy,  features 
not  only  beautiful  and  noble,  but  also  extremely  deli- 
cate, dark  eyes  which  possessed  a  wonderful  charm, 
and  thick,  auburn,  curly  hair,  which  completed  the 
attractiveness  and   the  strangeness  of  his   appearance. 

They  soon  became  acquainted,  through  a  Prussian 
officer  whom  the  Brazilian  had  asked  for  an  introduc- 
tion to  the  beautiful  Polish  lady  —  for  Frau  von  Cha- 
bert  was  taken  for  one  in  Vevey.  She,  cold  and 
designing  as  she  was,  blushed  slightly  when  he  stood 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  239 

before  her  for  the  first  time;  and  when  he  gave  her 
his  arm,  he  could  feel  her  hand  tremble  slightly  on 
it.  The  same  evening  they  went  out  riding  together, 
the  next  he  was  lying  at  her  feet,  and  on  the  third 
she  was  his.  For  four  weeks  the  lovely  Wanda  and 
the  Brazilian  lived  together  as  if  they  had  been  in 
Paradise,  but  he  could  not  deceive  her  searching  eyes 
any  longer. 

Her  sharp  and  practiced  eye  had  already  discov- 
ered in  him  that  indefinable  something  which  makes 
a  man  appear  a  suspicious  character.  Any  other 
woman  would  have  been  pained  and  horrified  at  such 
a  discovery,  but  she  found  the  strange  consolation  in 
it  that  her  handsome  adorer  promised  also  to  become 
a  very  interesting  object  for  pursuit,  and  so  she  began 
systematically  to  watch  the  man  who  lay  unsuspect- 
ingly at  her  feet. 

She  soon  found  out  that  he  was  no  conspirator; 
but  she  asked  herself  in  vain  whether  she  was  to 
look  for  a  common  swindler,  an  impudent  adven- 
turer, or  perhaps  even  a  criminal  in  him.  The  day 
that  she  had  foreseen  soon  came;  the  Brazilian's 
banker  "unaccountably"  had  omitted  to  send  him 
any  money,  and  so  he  borrowed  some  of  her.  "So 
he  is  a  male  courtesan,"  she  said  to  herself.  The 
handsome  man  soon  required  money  again,  and  she 
lent  it  to  him  again.  Then  at  last  he  left  suddenly 
and  nobody  knew  where  he  had  gone  to;  only  this 
much,  that  he  had  left  Vevey  as  the  companion  of 
an  old  but  wealthy  Wallachian  lady.  So  this  time 
clever  Wanda  was  duped. 

A  year  afterward  she  met   the  Braziliiin   unexpect- 
edly  at   Lucca,  with  an    insipid-looking,  light-haired, 


240  IN   VARIOUS   ROLES 

thin  Englishwoman  on  his  arm.  V/anda  stood  still 
and  looked  at  him  steadily,  but  he  glanced  at  her 
quite  indifferently;  he  did  not  choose  to  know  her 
again. 

The  next  morning,  however,  his  valet  brought  her 
a  letter  from  him,  which  contained  the  amount  of  his 
debt  in  Italian  hundred-lire  notes,  accompanied  by  a 
very  cool  excuse.  Wanda  was  satisfied,  but  she 
wished  to  find  out  who  the  lady  was,  in  whose  com- 
pany she  constantly  saw  Don  Escovedo. 

"Don  Escovedo." 

An  Austrian  count,  who  had  a  loud  and  silly 
laugh,  said: 

"Who  has  saddled  you  with  that  yarn  ?  The  lady 
is  Lady  Nitingsdale,  and  his  name  is  Romanesco." 

"Romanesco?"  ^ 

"Yes,  he  is  a  rich  Boyar  from  Moldavia,  where 
he  has  extensive  estates." 

Romanesco  ran  a  faro  bank  in  his  apartments,  and 
certainly  cheated,  for  he  nearly  always  won;  it  was 
not  long,  therefore,  before  other  people  in  good 
society  at  Lucca  shared  Madame  von  Chabert's  sus- 
picions, and,  consequently,  Romanesco  thought  it 
advisable  to  vanish  as  suddenly  from  Lucca  as  Es- 
covedo had  done  from  Vevey,  and  without  leaving 
any  more  traces  behind  him. 

Some  time  afterward,  Madame  von  Chabert  was 
on  the  island  of  Heligoland,  for  the  sea-bathing;  and 
one  day  she  saw  Escovedo-Romancsco  sitting  oppo- 
site to  her  at  the  table  d'hote,  in  very  animated  con- 
versation with  a  Russian  lady;  only  his  hair  had 
turned  black  since  she  had  seen  him  last.  Evidently 
his  light  hair  had  become  too  compromising  for  him. 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  241 

"The  sea-water  seems  to  have  a  very  remarkable 
effect  upon  your  hair,"  Wanda  said  to  him  spitefully, 
in  a  whisper. 

"Do  you  think  so?"  he  replied,  condescendingly. 

"I  fancy  that  at  one  time  your  hair  was  fair." 

"You  are  mistaking  me  for  somebody  else,"  the 
Brazilian  replied,  quietly. 

"I  am  not." 

"For  whom  do  you  take  me,  pray?"  he  said  with 
an  insolent  smile. 

"For  Don  Escovedo." 

"1  am  Count  Dembizki  from  Valkynia,"  the  former 
Brazilian  said  with  a  bow;  "perhaps  you  would  like 
to  see  my  passport." 

"Well,   perhaps  —  " 

And  he  had  the  impudence  to  show  her  his  false 
passport. 

A  year  afterward  Wanda  met  Count  Dembizki  in 
Baden,  near  Vienna.  I  lis  hair  was  still  black,  but  he 
had  a  magnificent,  full,  black  beard;  he  had  become  a 
Greek  prince,  and  his  name  was  Anastasio  Maurokor- 
datos.  She  met  him  once  in  one  of  the  side  walks 
in  the  park,  where  he  could  not  avoid  her.  "If  it 
goes  on  like  this,"  she  called  out  to  him  in  a  mock- 
ing voice,  "the  next  time  I  see  you,  you  will  be 
king  of  some  negro  tribe  or  other." 

That  time,  however,  the  Brazilian  did  not  deny 
his  identity;  on  the  contrary,  he  surrendered  at  dis- 
cretion, and  implored  her  not  to  betray  him.  As  she 
was  not  revengeful  she  pardoned  him,  after  enjoying 
his  terror  for  a  time,  and  promised  him  that  she 
would  hold  her  tongue,  as  long  as  he  did  nothing 
contrary  to  the  laws. 
Maup.  1—16 


242 


IN    VARIOUS    ROLES 


** First  of  all,  I  must  beg  you  not  to  gamble." 

"You  have  only  to  command;  and  we  do  not 
know  each  other  in  the  future" 

"I  must  certainly  insist  on  that,"  she  said  mali- 
ciously. 

The  "  Exotic  Prince  "  had,  however,  made  a  conquest 
of  the  charming  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Austrian  count, 
and  had  cut  out  an  excellent  young  officer,  who  was 
wooing  her.  The  latter,  in  his  despair,  began  to 
make  love  to  Frau  von  Chabert,  and  at  last  told  her 
he  loved  her.     But  she  only  laughed  at  him. 

"You  are  very  cruel,"  he  stammered  in  confusion. 

"1.?  What  are  you  thinking  about?"  Wanda  re- 
plied, still  smiling;  "all  I  mean  is  that  you  have 
directed  your  love  to  the  wrong  address,  for  Coun- 
tess—  " 

"Do  not  speak  of  her;  she  is  engaged  to  another 
man." 

"As  long  as  I  choose  to  permit  it,"  she  said;  "but 
what  will  you  do  if  I  bring  her  back  to  your  arms  ? 
Will  you  still  call  me  cruel?" 

"Can  you  do  this?"  the  young  officer  asked,  in 
great  excitement. 

"Well,  supposing  I  can  do  it,  what  shall  I  be 
then?" 

"An  angel,  whom  I  shall  thank  on  my  knees." 

A  few  days  later,  the  rivals  met  at  a  coffee-house; 
the  Greek  prince  began  to  lie  and  boast,  and  the 
Austrian  officer  gave  him  the  he  direct.  In  conse- 
quence, it  was  arranged  that  they  should  fight  a  duel 
with  pistols  next  morning  in  a  wood  close  to  Baden. 
But  as  the  officer  was  leaving  the  house  with  his 
seconds  the  next  mornmg,  a  Police  Commissary  came 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT  243 

up  to  him  and  begged  him  not  to  trouble  himself  any 
further  about  the  matter,  but  another  time  to  be  more 
careful  before  accepting  a  challenge. 

"What  does  it  mean?"  the  otficer  asked,  in  some 
surprise. 

"It  means  that  this  Maurokordatos  is  a  dangerous 
swindler  and  adventurer,  whom  we  have  just  taken 
into  custody." 

"  He  is  not  a  prince  ?" 

"No;  a  circus  rider." 

An  hour  later,  the  officer  received  a  letter  from  the 
charming  Countess,  in  which  she  humbly  begged  for 
pardon.  The  happy  lover  set  off  to  go  and  see  her 
immediately,  but  on  the  way  a  sudden  thought  struck 
him,  and  so  he  turned  back  in  order  to  thank  beauti- 
ful Wanda,  as  he  had  promised,  on  his  knees. 


THE    FALSE    GEMS 


Lantin  had  met  the  young 
woman  at  a  soiree,  at  the 
home  of  the  assistant  chief 
of  his  bureau,  and  at  first  sight 
had  fallen  madly  in  love  with  her. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a  coun- 
try physician  who  had  died  some 
months  previously.  She  had  come  to 
ive  in  Paris,  with  her  mother,  who 
'isited  much  among  her  acquaintances, 
the  hope  of  making  a  favorable  mar- 
riage for  her  daughter.  They  were  poor  and 
honest,  quiet  and  unatTected. 
The  young  girl  was  a  perfect  type  of  the 
virtuous  woman  whom  every  sensible  young  man 
dreams  of  one  day  winning  for  life.  Her  simple 
beauty  had  the  charm  of  angelic  modesty,  and  the  im- 
perceptible smile  which  constantly  hovered  about  her 
lips  seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of  a  pure  and  lovely 
soul.  Her  praises  resounded  on  every  side.  People 
were  never  tired  of  saying:  "Happy  the  man  who 
wins  her  love!     He  could  not  find  a  better  wife." 

(244) 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  245 

Now  M,  Lantin  enjoyed  a  snug  little  income  of 
$700,  and,  thinking  he  could  safely  assume  the  respon- 
sibilities of  matrimony,  proposed  to  this  model  young 
girl  and  was  accepted. 

He  was  unspeakably  happy  with  her;  she  gov- 
erned his  household  so  cleverly  and  economically 
that  they  seemed  to  live  in  luxury.  She  lavished 
the  most  delicate  attentions  on  her  husband,  coaxed 
and  fondled  him,  and  the  charm  of  her  presence 
was  so  great  that  six  years  after  their  marriage 
M.  Lantin  discovered  that  he  loved  his  wife  even 
more  than  during   the  first  days  of  their  honeymoon. 

He  only  felt  inclined  to  blame  her  for  two  things: 
her  love  of  the  theater,  and  a  taste  for  false  jewelry. 
Her  friends  (she  was  acquainted  with  some  officers' 
wives)  frequently  procured  for  her  a  box  at  the  thea- 
ter, often  for  the  first  representations  of  the  new 
plays;  and  her  husband  was  obliged  to  accompany 
her,  whether  he  willed  or  not,  to  these  amusements, 
though  they  bored  him  excessively  after  a  day's  labor 
at  the  office. 

After  a  time,  M.  Lantin  begged  his  wife  to  get 
some  lady  of  her  acquaintance  to  accompany  her. 
She  was  at  first  opposed  to  such  an  arrangement; 
but,  after  much  persuasion  on  his  part,  she  finally 
consented  —  to  the  infinite  delight  of  her  husband. 

Now,  with  her  love  for  the  theater  came  also  the 
desire  to  adorn  her  person.  True,  her  costumes  re- 
mained as  before,  simple,  and  in  the  most  correct 
taste;  but  she  soon  began  to  ornament  her  ears  with 
huge  rhinestones  which  glittered  and  sparkled  like 
real  diamonds.  Around  her  neck  she  wore  strings  of 
false  pearls,  and  on  her  arms  bracelets  of  imitation  gold. 


246  THE   FALSE   GEMS 

Her  husband  frequently  remonstrated  with  her, 
saying: 

"My  dear,  as  you  cannot  afford  to  buy  real  dia- 
monds, you  ought  to  appear  adorned  with  your  beauty 
and  modesty  alone,  which  are  the  rarest  ornaments 
of  your  sex." 

But  she  would  smile  sweetly,  and  say: 

"What  can  I  do?  I  am  so  fond  of  jewelry.  It 
is  my  only  weakness.  We  cannot  change  our 
natures." 

Then  she  would  roll  the  pearl  necklaces  around  her 
fingers,  and  hold  up  the  bright  gems  for  her  hus- 
band's admiration,  gently  coaxing  him: 

"Look!  are  they  not  lovely.^  One  would  swear 
they  were  real." 

M.  Lantin  would  then  answer,  smilingly: 

"You  have  Bohemian  tastes,  my  dear." 

Often  of  an  evening,  when  they  were  enjoying  a 
tete-a-tete  by  the  fireside,  she  would  place  on  the 
tea  table  the  leather  box  containing  the  "trash,"  as 
M.  Lantin  called  it.  She  would  examine  the  false 
gems  with  a  passionate  attention  as  though  they 
were  in  some  way  connected  with  a  deep  and  secret 
joy;  and  she  often  insisted  on  passing  a  necklace 
around  her  husband's  neck,  and  laughing  heartily 
would  exclaim:  "How  droll  you  look!"  Then  she 
would  throw  herself  into  his  arms  and  kiss  him  af- 
fectionately. 

One  evening  in  winter  she  attended  the  opera, 
and  on  her  return  was  chilled  through  and  through. 
The  next  morning  she  coughed,  and  eight  days  later 
she  died  of  inflammation  of  the  lungs. 

M.    Lantin's    despair   was    so   great   that    his   hair 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


247 


became  white  in  one  month.  He  wept  unceasingly; 
his  heart  was  torn  with  grief,  and  his  mind  was 
haunted  by  the  remembrance,  the  smile,  the  voice  — 
by  every  charm  of  his  beautiful,  dead  wife. 

Time,  the  healer,  did  not  assuage  his  grief.  Often 
during  office  hours,  while  his  colleagues  were  discuss- 
ing the  topics  of  the  day,  his  eyes  would  suddenly 
fill  with  tears,  and  he  would  give  vent  to  his  grief 
in  heartrending  sobs.  Everything  in  his  wife's  room 
remained  as  before  her  decease;  and  here  he  was 
wont  to  seclude  himself  daily  and  think  of  her  who 
had  been  his  treasure  —  the  joy  of  his  existence. 

But  life  soon  became  a  struggle.  His  income, 
which  in  the  hands  of  his  wife  had  covered  all  house- 
hold expenses,  was  now  no  longer  sufficient  for  his 
own  immediate  wants;  and  he  wondered  how  she 
could  have  managed  to  buy  such  excellent  wines,  and 
such  rare  delicacies,  things  which  he  could  no  longer 
procure  with  his  modest  resources. 

He  incurred  some  debts  and  was  soon  reduced  to 
absolute  poverty.  One  morning,  finding  himself  with- 
out a  cent  in  his  pocket,  he  resolved  to  sell  something, 
and,  immediately,  the  thought  occurred  to  him  of  dis- 
posing of  his  wife's  paste  jewels.  He  cherished  in 
his  heart  a  sort  of  rancor  against  the  false  gems. 
They  had  always  irritated  him  in  the  past,  and  the 
very  sight  of  them  spoiled  somewhat  the  memory  of 
his  lost  darling. 

To  the  last  days  of  her  life,  she  had  continued  to 
make  purchases;  bringing  home  new  gems  almost 
every  evening.  He  decided  to  sell  the  heavy  necklace 
which  she  seemed  to  prefer,  and  which,  he  thought, 
outrht    to    be   worth   about  six   or   seven    francs;    for 


248  THE   FALSE  GEMS 

although    paste    it    was,    nevertheless,    of   very    fine' 
vv'orkmanship. 

He  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  started  out  in  search 
of  a  jeweler's  shop.  He  entered  the  first  one  he  saw; 
feeling  a  little  ashamed  to  expose  his  misery,  and  also 
to  offer  such  a  worthless  article  for  sale. 

"Sir,"  said  he  to  the  merchant,  "I  would  like  to 
know  what  this  is  worth." 

The  man  took  the  necklace,  examined  it,  called 
his  clerk  and  made  some  remarks  in  an  undertone; 
then  he  put  the  ornament  back  on  the  counter,  and 
looked  at  it  from  a  distance  to  judge  of  the  effect. 

M,  Lantin  was  annoyed  by  all  this  detail  and  was 
on  the  point  of  saying:  "Oh!  1  know  well  enough  it 
is  not  worth  anytiiing,"  when  the  jeweler  said:  "Sir, 
that  necklace  is  worth  from  twelve  to  fifteen  thousand 
francs;  but  I  could  not  buy  it  unless  you  tell  me 
now  whence  it  comes." 

The  widower  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  remained 
gaping,  not  comprehending  the  merchant's  meaning. 
Finally  he  stammered:  "You  say  —  are  you  sure?" 
The  other  replied  dryly:  "You  can  search  elsewhere 
and  see  if  anyone  will  offer  you  more.  I  consider 
it  worth  fifteen  thousand  at  the  most.  Come  back 
here  if  you  cannot  do  better." 

M.  Lantin,  beside  himself  with  astonishment,  took 
up  the  necklace  and  left  the  store.  He  wished  time 
for  reflection. 

Once  outside,  he  felt  inclined  to  laugh,  and  said 
to  himself:  "The  fool!  Had  I  only  taken  him  at  his 
word!  That  jeweler  cannot  distinguish  real  diamonds 
Irom  paste." 

A  few  minutes   aftei,  he  entered   another   store  in 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 


249 


the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  As  soon  as  the  proprietor 
glanced  at  the  necklace,  he  cried  out: 

"Ah,  parbleu!  I  know  it  well;  it  was  bought 
here." 

M.  Lanlin  was  disturbed,  and  asked: 

"How  much  is  it  worth?" 

"Well,  I  sold  it  for  twenty  thousand  francs.  I  am 
willing  to  take  it  back  for  eighteen  thousand  when 
you  inform  me,  according  to  our  legal  formality,  how 
it  comes  to  be  in  your  possession." 

This  time  M.  Lantin  was  dumfounded.  He  re- 
plied: 

"But  —  but  —  examine  it  well.  Until  this  moment 
I  was  under  the  impression  that  it  was  paste." 

Said  the  jeweler: 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?" 

"Lantin  —  1  am  in  the  employ  of  the  Minister  of 
the  Interior.     1  live  at  No.  16  Rue  des  Martyrs." 

The  merchant  looked  through  his  books,  found  the 
entry,  and  said:  "That  necklace  was  sent  to  Mme. 
Lantin's  address,    16  Rue  des  Martyrs,  July  20,    1876." 

The  two  men  looked  into  each  other's  eyes  —  the 
widower  speechless  with  astonishment,  the  jeweler 
scenting  a  thief.  The  latter  broke  the  silence  by  say- 
ing: 

"Will  you  leave  this  necklace  here  for  twenty-four 
hours?     I  will  give  you  a  receipt." 

"Certainly,"  answered  M.  Lantin,  hastily.  Then, 
putting  the  ticket  in  his  pocket,  he  left  the  store. 

He  wandered  aimlessly  through  the  streets,  his 
mind  in  a  state  of  dreadful  confusion.  He  tried  to 
reason,  to  understand.  His  wife  could  not  afford  to 
purchase  such  a  costly  ornament.    Certainly  not.    But, 


2  so  THE   FALSE   GEMS 

then,  it  must  have  been  a  present!  —  a  present!  —  a 
present  from  whom  ?    Why  was  it  given  her  ? 

He  stopped  and  remained  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  street.  A  horrible  doubt  entered  his  mind  — 
she?  Then  all  the  other  gems  must  have  been  pres- 
ents, too!  The  earth  seemed  to  tremble  beneath  him, 
—  the  tree  before  him  was  falling  —  throwing  up  his 
arms,  he  fell  to  the  ground,  unconscious.  He  re- 
covered his  senses  in  a  pharmacy  into  which  the 
passers-by  had  taken  him,  and  was  then  taken  to  his 
home.  When  he  arrived  he  shut  himself  up  in  his 
room  and  wept  until  nighttall.  Finally,  overcome  with 
fatigue,  lie  threw  himself  on  the  bed,  where  he  passed 
an  uneasy,  restless  night. 

The  following  morning  he  arose  and  prepared  to 
go  to  the  office.  It  was  hard  to  work  after  such  a 
shock.  He  sent  a  letter  to  his  employer  requesting 
to  be  excused.  Then  he  remembered  that  he  had  to 
return  to  the  jeweler's.  He  did  not  like  the  idea; 
but  he  could  not  leave  the  necklace  with  that  man. 
So  he  dressed  and  went  out. 

It  was  a  lovely  day;  a  clear  blue  sky  smiled  on 
the  busy  city  below,  and  men  of  leisure  were  strolling 
about  with  their  hands  in  their  pockets. 

Observing  them,  M.  Lantin  said  to  himself:  "The 
rich,  indeed,  are  happy.  With  money  it  is  possible 
to  forget  even  the  deepest  sorrow.  One  can  go  where 
one  pleases,  and  in  travel  find  that  distraction  which 
is  the  surest  cure  for  grief.    Oh!  if  I  were  only  rich!" 

He  began  to  feel  hungry,  but  his  pocket  was 
empty.  He  again  remembered  the  necklace.  Eight- 
een thousand  francs!  Eighteen  thousand  francs! 
What  a  sum! 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


251 


He  soon  arrived  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  opposite 
the  jeweler's.  Eighteen  thousand  francs!  Twenty 
times  he  resolved  to  go  in,  but  shame  kept  him  back. 
He  was  hungry,  however, —  very  hungry,  and  had  not 
a  cent  in  his  pocket.  He  decided  quickly,  ran  across 
the  street  in  order  not  to  have  time  for  reflection,  and 
entered  the  store. 

The  proprietor  immediately  came  forward,  and 
politely  offered  him  a  chair;  the  clerks  glanced  at  him 
knowingly. 

"I  have  made  inquiries,  M.  Lantin,"  said  the  jew- 
eler, "and  if  you  are  still  resolved  to  dispose  of  the 
gems,  I  am  ready  to  pay  you  the  price  1  offered." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  stammered  M.  Lantin. 

Whereupon  the  proprietor  took  from  a  drawer 
eighteen  large  bills,  counted  and  handed  them  to  M. 
Lantin,  who  signed  a  receipt  and  with  a  trembling 
hand  put  the  money  into  his  pocket. 

As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  store,  he  turned 
toward  the  merchant,  who  still  wore  the  same  know- 
ing smile,  and  lowering  his  eyes,  said: 

"1  have — I  have  other  gems  which  I  have  re- 
ceived from  the  same  source.  Will  you  buy  them 
also.?" 

The  merchant  bowed:    "Certainly,  sir." 

M.  Lantin  said  gravely:  "  I  will  bring  them  to  you." 
An  hour  later  he  returned  with  the  gems. 

The  large  diamond  earrings  were  worth  twenty 
thousand  francs;  the  bracelets  thirty-five  thousand; 
the  rings,  sixteen  thousand;  a  set  of  emeralds  and 
sapphires,  fourteen  thousand;  a  gold  chain  with  soli- 
taire pendant,  forty  thousand  —  making  the  sum  of 
one  hundred  and  forty-three  thousand  francs. 


2^2  THE   FALSE   GEMS 

The  jeweler  remarked,  jokingly: 

"There  was  a  person  who  invested  all  her  earnings 
in  precious  stones." 

M.  Lantin  ''epiied,  seriously: 

"It  is  only  another  way  of  investing  one's  money." 

That  day  he  lunched  at  Voisin's  and  drank  wine 
worth  twenty  francs  a  bottle.  Then  he  hired  a  car- 
riage and  made  a  tour  of  the  Bois,  and  as  he  scanned 
the  various  turn-outs  with  a  contemptuous  air  he  could 
hardly  refrain  from  crying  out  to  the  occupants: 

"I,  too,  am  rich!  —  I  am  worth  two  hundred 
thousand  francs." 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  his  employer.  He  drove 
up  to  the  office,  and  entered  gaily,  saying: 

"  Sir,  I  have  come  to  resign  my  position.  I  have 
just  inherited  three  hundred  thousand  francs." 

He  shook  hands  with  his  former  colleagues  and 
confided  to  them  some  of  his  projects  for  the  future; 
then  he  went  off  to  dine  at  the  Cafe  Anglais. 

He  seated  himself  beside  a  gentleman  of  aristo- 
cratic bearing,  and  during  the  meal  informed  the  latter 
confidentially  that  he  had  just  inherited  a  fortune  of 
four  hundred  thousand  francs. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  was  not  bored  at 
the  theater,  and  spent  the  remainder  of  the  night  in  a 
gay  frolic. 

Six  months  afterward  he  married  again.  His  sec- 
ond wife  was  a  very  virtuous  woman,  with  a  violent 
temper.     She  caused  him  much  sorrow. 


COUNTESS    SATAN 


I. 


HEY  were  discussing  dynamite,  the 

social     revolution,    Nihilism,    and 

even  those  who  cared  least  about 

politics  had  something  to  say.    Some 

were    alarmed,    others    philosophized, 

and  others  again  tried  to  smile. 

"Belli!"  N said,   "when  we  are 


all  blovv'n    up,  we   shall   see    what   it   is 

like.     Perhaps,    after    all,    it    may   be    an 

amusing   sensation,  provided  one  goes  high 

enough." 

"But  we  shall   not   be   blown   up   at   all," 

G ,  the  optimist,  said,  interrupting  him.    "It 

is  all  a  romance." 
"You    are    mistaken,    my   dear    fellow,"    Jules   de 
replied.     "It  is  like  a  romance,  but  with   this 


confounded  Nihilism,  everything  is  the  same;  it  would 
be  a  rnibtake  to  trust  to  it.  For  instance,  the  manner 
in  which  I  made  Bakounine's  acquaintance — " 


254  COUNTESS  SATAN 

They  knew  that  he  was  a  good  narrator,  and  it 
was  no  secret  that  his  Hfe  had  been  an  adventurous 
one,  so  they  drew  closer  to  him,  and  hstened  intently. 
This  is  what  he  told  them; 


II 


**I    met    Countess    Nioska    W ,    that    strange 

woman  who  was  usually  called  Countess  Satan,  in 
Naples.  I  immediately  attached  myself  to  her  out 
of  curiosity,  and  soon  fell  in  love  with  her.  Not 
that  she  was  beautiful,  for  she  was  a  Russian  with 
the  bad  characteristics  of  the  Russian  type.  She  was 
thin  and  squat  at  the  same  time,  while  her  face 
was  sallow  and  putTy,  with  high  cheek-bones  and  a 
Cossack's  nose.  But  her  conversation  bewitched 
everyone. 

"She  was  many-sided,  learned,  a  philosopher, 
scientifically  depraved,  satanic.  Perhaps  the  word  is 
rather  pretentious,  but  it  exactly  expresses  what  I 
want  to  say,  for  in  other  words  she  loved  evil  for  the 
sake  of  evil.  She  rejoiced  in  other  people's  vices; 
-she  liked  to  sow  the  seeds  of  evil,  in  order  to  see  it 
flourish.  And  that,  too,  by  fraud  on  an  enormous  scale. 
It  was  not  enough  for  her  to  corrupt  individuals,  she 
only  did  that  to  keep  her  hand  in;  what  she  wished 
to  do  was  to  corrupt  the  masses.  By  slightly  alter- 
ing it  after  her  own  fashion,  she  might  have 
used  Caligula's  famous  wish.  She  also  might  have 
wished  that  the  whole  human  race  had  but  one 
head;    not  in   order   that    she    might   cut   it    off,    but 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  255 

that    she    might     make  the    philosophy    of    Nihilism 
flourish   there. 

"What  a  temptation  to  become  the  lord  and  mas- 
ter of  such  a  monster!  1  allowed  myself  to  be 
tempted,  and  undertook  the  adventure.  The  means 
came  unsought  for  by  me,  and  the  only  thing  that  I 
had  to  do  was  to  show  myself  more  perverted  and 
Satanic  than  she  was  herself.  And  so  1  played  the 
dev^il. 

"'Yes,'  I  said,  'we  writers  are  the  best  work- 
men for  doing  evil,  as  our  books  may  be  bottles  of 
poison.  The  so-called  men  of  action  only  turn  the 
handle  of  the  mitrailleuse  which  we  have  loaded. 
Formulas  will  destroy  the  world,  and  it  is  we  who 
invent  them.' 

"'That  is  true,'  said  she,  'and  that  is  what  is 
wanting  in  Bakounine,  I  am  sorry  to  say.' 

"That  name  was  constantly  in  her  mouth.  So  I 
asked  her  for  details,  which  she  gave  me,  as  she  knew 
the  man  intimately. 

"'After  all,'  she  said,  with  a  contemptuous  gri- 
mace,  'he  is  only  a  kind  of  Garibaldi.' 

"She  told  me,  although  she  made  fun  cf  him  as 
she  did  so,  about  that  'Odyssey'  of  the  barricades  and 
of  the  hulks  which  made  up  Bakounine's  history,  and 
which  is,  nevertheless,  the  exact  truth;  about  his  ad- 
ventures as  chief  of  the  insurgents  at  Prague  and  then 
at  Dresden;  of  his  first  death  sentence;  about  his 
imprisonment  at  Olmutz,  in  the  casemates  of  the 
fortress  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul,  and  in  a  subterra- 
nean dungeon  at  Schusselburg;  about  his  exile  to 
Siberia  and  his  wonderful  escape  down  the  river 
Amour,  on  a  Japanese   coasting-vessel,  and  about  his 


256  COUNTESS   SATAN 

final  arrival,  by  way  of  Yokohama  and  San  Francisco, 
in  London,  wlience  he  was  directing  all  the  opera- 
tions of  Nihilism. 

"'You  see,'  she  said,  'he  is  a  thorough  adven- 
turer, and  now  all  his  adventures  are  over.  He  got 
married  at  Tobolsk  and  became  a  mere  respectable, 
middle-class  man.  And  then  he  has  no  individual 
ideas.  Herzen,  the  pamphleteer  of  "Kolokol,"  inspired 
him  with  the  only  fertile  phrase  that  he  ever  uttered: 
"Land  and  Liberty!"  But  that  is  not  yet  the  definite 
formula,  the  general  formula  —  what  I  may  call  the 
dynamite  formula.  At  best,  Bakounine  would  only 
become  an  incendiary,  and  burn  down  cities.  And 
what  is  that,  1  ask  you?  Bah!  A  second-hand  Ros- 
toptchin!  He  wants  a  prompter,  and  I  offered  to  be- 
come his,  but  he  did  not  take  me  seriously.' 

4:  4:  4c  4«  ^  Hf  * 

"It  would  be  useless  to  enter  into  all  the  psycho- 
logical details  which  marked  the  course  of  my  passion 
for  the  Countess,  and  to  explain  to  you  more  fully 
the  curious  and  daily  growing  attraction  which  she 
had  for  me.  It  was  getting  exasperating,  and  the 
more  so  as  she  resisted  me  as  stoutly  as  the  shyest 
of  innocents  could  have  done.  At  the  end  of  a 
month  of  mad  Satanism,  I  saw  what  her  game  was. 
Do  you  know  what  she  intended  ?  She  meant  to 
make  me  Bakounine's  prompter,  or,  at  any  rate,  that 
is  what  she  said.  But  no  doubt  she  reserved  the 
right  to  herself — at  least  that  is  how  I  understood 
her  —  to  prompt  the  prompter,  and  my  passion  for 
her,  which  she  purposely  left  unsatisfied,  assured  her 
that  absolute  power  over  me. 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  257 

"All  this  may  appear  madness  to  you,  but  it  is, 
nevertheless,  the  exact  truth.  In  short,  one  morning 
she  bluntly  made  the  offer: 

"'Become  Bakounine's  soul,  and  you  shall  pos- 
sess me.' 

"Of  course  I  accepted,  for  it  was  too  fantastically 
strange  to  refuse.  Don't  you  think  so  ?  What  an 
adventure!  What  luck!  A  number  of  letters  between 
the  Countess  and  Bakounine  prepared  the  way;  I  was 
introduced  to  him  at  his  house,  and  they  discussed 
me  there.  1  became  a  sort  of  Western  prophet,  a 
mystic  charmer  who  was  ready  to  nihilize  the  Latin 
races,  the  Saint  Paul  of  the  new  religion  of  nothing- 
ness, and  at  last  a  day  was  fixed  for  us  to  meet  in 
London.  He  lived  in  a  small,  one-storied  house  in 
Pimlico,  with  a  tiny  garden  in  front,  and  nothing 
noticeable  about  it. 

"We  were  first  of  all  shown  into  the  common- 
place parlor  of  all  English  homes,  and  then  upstairs. 
The  room  where  the  Countess  and  1  were  left  was 
small,  and  very  badly  furnished.  It  had  a  square 
table  with  writing  materials  on  it,  in  the  center  of  the 
room.  This  was  his  sanctuary.  The  deity  soon  ap- 
peared, and  I  saw  him  in  flesh  and  bone  —  especially 
in  flesh,  for  he  was  enormously  stout.  His  broad 
face,  with  prominent  cheek-bones,  in  spite  of  fat; 
a  nose  like  a  double  funnel;  and  small,  sharp  eyes, 
which  had  a  magnetic  look,  proclaimed  the  Tartar, 
the  old  Turanian  blood  which  produced  the  Attilas, 
the  Genghis-Khans,  the  Tamerlanes.  The  obesity 
which  is  characteristic  of  nomad  races,  who  are 
always  on  horseback  or  driving,  added  to  his  Asiatic 
look.     The    man    was    certainly    not    a    European,'  a 

Muiip.  1—17 


258  COUNTESS  SATAN 

slave,  a  descendant  of  the  deistic  Aryans,  but  a 
scion  of  the  atheistic  hordes  who  had  several  times 
already  almost  overrun  Europe,  and  who,  instead  of 
ideas  of  progress,  have  Nihilism  buried  in  their 
hearts. 

"I  was  astonished,  for  I  had  not  expected  that  the 
majesty  of  a  whole  race  could  be  thus  revived  in  a 
man,  and  my  stupefaction  increased  after  an  hour's 
conversation.  I  could  quite  understand  why  such  a 
Colossus  had  not  wished  for  the  Countess  as  his 
Egeria;  she  was  a  silly  child  to  have  dreamed  of  act- 
ing such  a  part  to  such  a  thinker.  She  had  not  felt 
the  profoundness  of  that  horrible  philosophy  which 
was  hidden  under  his  material  activity,  nor  had  she 
seen  the  prophet  under  this  hero  of  the  barricades. 
Perhaps  he  had  not  thought  it  advisable  to  reveal 
himself  to  her;  but  he  revealed  himself  to  me,  and 
inspired  me  with  terror. 

"A  prophet?  Oh!  yes.  He  thought  himself  an 
Attila,  and  foresaw  the  consequences  of  his  revolu- 
tion; it  was  not  only  from  instinct  but  also  from 
theory  that  he  urged  a  nation  on  to  Nihilism.  The 
phrase  is  not  his,  but  Turgenieff's,  I  believe,  but 
the  idea  certainly  belonged  to  him.  He  got  his  pro- 
gramme of  agricultural  communism  from  Herzen, 
and  his  destructive  radicalism  from  Pougatcheff,  but 
he  did  not  stop  there.  I  mean  that  he  went  on  to 
evil  for  the  sake  of  evil.  Herzen  wished  for  the  hap- 
piness of  the  Slav  peasant;  Pougatcheff  wanted  to  be 
elected  Emperor,  but  all  that  Bakounine  wanted  was 
to  overthrow  the  actual  order  of  things,  no  matter  by 
what  means,  and  to  •'eplace  social  concentration  by  a 
universal  upheaval. 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  259 

"It  was  the  dream  of  a  Tartar;  it  was  true  Nihi- 
lism pushed  to  extreme  and  practical  conclusions.  It 
was,  in  a  word,  the  applied  philosophy  of  chance,  the 
indeterminate  end  of  anarchy.  Monstrous  it  may  be, 
but  grand  in  its  monstrosity! 

"And  you  must  note  that  the  typical  man  of  ac- 
tion so  despised  by  the  Countess  was,  in  Bakounine, 
the  gigantic  dreamer  whom  I  have  just  shown  to  you. 
His  dream  did  not  remain  a  dream,  but  began  to  be 
realized.  It  was  by  the  care  of  Bakounine  that  the 
Nihilistic  party  became  an  entity;  a  party  in  which 
there  is  a  little  of  everything,  you  know,  but  on  the 
whole,  a  formidable  party,  the  advanced  guard  of 
which  is  true  Nihilism,  whose  object  is  nothing  less 
than  to  destroy  the  Western  world,  to  see  it  blossom 
from  under  the  ruins  of  a  general  dispersion,  the  las* 
conception  of  modern  Tartarism. 

"I  never  saw  Bakounine  again,  for  the  Countess's 
conquest  would  have  been  too  dearly  bought  by  an) 
attempt  to  act  a  comedy  with  this  *  Old-Man-of-the- 
Mountain.'  And  besides  that,  after  this  visit,  poor 
Countess  Satan  appeared  to  me  quite  silly.  Her  Yi- 
mous Satanism  was  nothing  but  the  flicker  of  a 
spirit-lamp,  after  the  general  conflagration  of  which 
the  other  had  dreamed.  She  had  certainly  shown 
herself  very  silly,  when  she  could  not  understand  that 
prodigious  monster.  And  as  she  had  seduced  me 
only  by  her  intellect  and  her  perversity,  I  was  dis- 
gusted as  soon  as  she  laid  aside  that  mask.  I  left 
her  without  telling  her  of  my  intention,  and  never 
saw  her  again,  either. 

"No  doubt  they  both  took  me  for  a  spy  from  the 
'Third  Section  of  the   Imperial  Chancellery.'     In  that 


26o  COUNTESS  SATAN 

case,  they  must  have  thought  me  very  clever  to  have 
escaped  discovery,  and  all  I  have  to  do  is  to  look 
out,  lest  any  affiliated  members  of  their  society  rec- 
ognize me!  " 

Then  he  smiled  and,  turning  to  the  waiter  who 
had  just  come  in,  said:  "Open  another  bottle  of 
champagne,  and  make  the  cork  pop!  It  will,  at 
any  rate,  remind  us  of  the  day  when  we  ourselves 
shall  be  blown  up  with  dynamite." 


THE    COLONEL'S    IDEAS 


PON  my  word,"  said  Colonel  La- 

porte,    "1    am  old   and   gouty, 

my    legs    are    as    stiff    as    two 

sticks,   and    yet   if  a    pretty   woman 

were    to    tell    me    to   go  through  the 

eye  of  a  needle,  1  believe  I  should  take 

a  jump    at  it,   like  a   clown    through  a 

."*    hoop.    I  shall  die   like   that;  it   is  in    the 

'    blood.     1  am    an  old  beau,  one  of  the  old 

^"\^     r^^z'wi',  and  the  sight  of  a  woman,   a  pretty 

1^?     woman,    stirs    me    to    the    tips    of   my  toes. 

(>3fV  There! 

y^  "And  then  we  are  all  very  much  alike  in 
>  France;  we  remain  cavaliers,  cavaliers  of  love  and 
fortune,  since  God  has  been  abolished,  whose  body- 
guard we  really  were.  But  nobody  will  ever  get  the 
woman  out  of  our  hearts;  there  she  is,  and  there  she 
will  remain;  we  love  her,  and  shall  continue  to  love 
her,  and  to  commit  all  kinds  of  frolics  on  her  account, 
so  long  as  there  is  a  France  on  the  map  of  Europe. 
And  even   if  France  were  to  be  wiped  off  the  map, 

there  would  always  be  Frenchmen  left. 

(261) 


2^2  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"When  I  am  in  the  presence  of  a  woman,  of  a 
pretty  woman,  I  feel  capable  of  anything.  By  Jove, 
when  I  feel  her  looks  penetrating  me,  those  confounded 
looks  which  set  your  blood  on  fire,  I  could  do  any- 
thing: fight  a  duel,  have  a  row,  smash  the  furniture, 
anything  just  to  show  that  I  am  the  strongest,  the 
bravest,  the  most  daring,  and  the  most  devoted  of  men. 

"But  I  am  not  the  only  one  —  certainly  not;  the 
whole  French  army  is  like  me,  that  1  will  swear  to. 
From  the  common  soldier  to  the  general,  we  all  go 
forward,  and  to  the  very  end,  mark  you,  when  there 
is  a  woman  in  the  case,  a  pretty  woman.  Remember 
what  Joan  of  Arc  made  us  do  formerly!  Come,  I'd 
make  a  bet  that  if  a  pretty  woman  had  taken  com- 
mand of  the  army  on  the  eve  of  Sedan,  when  Mar- 
shal MacMahon  was  wounded,  we  should  have  broken 
through  the  Prussian  lines,  by  Jove!  and  have  had  a 
drink  out  of  their  guns. 

"It  was  not  Trochu,  but  Saint-Genevieve,  who 
was  required  in  Paris,  and  1  remember  a  little  anec  • 
dote  of  the  war  which  proves  that  we  are  capable  of 
everything  in  the  presence  of  a  woman. 

"I  was  a  captain,  a  simple  captain,  at  the  time, 
and  was  in  command  of  a  detachment  of  scouts  who 
were  retreating  through  a  district  swarming  with 
Prussians.  We  were  surrounded,  pursued,  tired  out, 
and  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  hunger,  and  by  the 
next  day  we  had  to  reach  Bar-sur-Tain;  otherwise  we 
should  be  done  for,  cut  off  from  the  main  body  and 
killed.  I  do  not  know  how  we  managed  to  escape 
so  far.  However,  we  had  ten  leagues  to  go  during 
the  night,  ten  leagues  through  the  snow,  and  upon 
empty  stomachs.     1  thought  to  myself: 


THE   COLONEL'S   IDEAS  265 

"'It  is  all  ever;  my  poor  fellows  will  never  be 
able  to  do  it.' 

"We  had  eaten  nothing  since  the  day  before,  and 
the  whole  day  long  we  remained  hidden  in  a  barn, 
huddled  dose  together,  so  as  not  to  feel  the  cold  so 
much;  we  did  not  venture  to  speak  or  even  move, 
and  we  slept  by  fits  and  starts,  like  you  sleep  when 
you  are  worn  out  with  fatigue. 

"It  was  dark  by  five  o'clock,  that  wan  darkness 
caused  by  the  snow,  and  1  shook  up  my  men.  Some 
of  them  would  not  get  up;  they  were  almost  incapa- 
ble of  moving  or  of  standing  upright,  and  their  joints 
were  stiff  from  the  cold  and  want  of  motion. 

"In  front  of  us  there  was  a  large  expanse  of  flat, 
bare  country;  the  snow  was  still  falling  like  a  cur- 
tain, in  large,  white  flakes,  which  concealed  every- 
thing under  a  heavy,  thick,  frozen  mantle,  a  mattress 
of  ice.  You  would  have  thought  that  it  was  the  end 
of  things. 

"'Come,  my  lads,'  let  us  start.' 

"They  looked  at  the  thick,  white  dust  which  was 
coming  down,  and  seemed  to  think:  'We  have  had 
enough  of  this;  we  may  just  as  well  die  here!' 
Then  1  took  out  my  revolver,  and  said: 

"'I  will  shoot  the  first  man  who  flinches.'  And 
so  they  set  off,  but  very  slowly,  like  men  whose  legs 
were  of  very  little  use  to  them.  I  sent  four  of  them 
three  hundred  yards  ahead,  to  scout,  and  the  others 
followed  pellmell,  walking  at  random  and  without 
any  order.  I  put  the  strongest  in  the  rear,  with 
orders  to  quicken  the  pace  of  the  sluggards  with  the 
points  of  their  bayonets  in  the  back. 

"The   snow  seemed   as   if  it  were  going  to  bury 


264  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

US  alive;  it  powdered  our  kSpis*  and  cloaks  without 
melting,  and  made  phantoms  of  us,  ghosts  of  worn- 
out  soldiers  who  were  very  tired,  and  1  said  to  my- 
self: 'We  shall  never  get  out  of  this,  except  by  a 
miracle.' 

•'Sometimes  we  had  to  stop  for  a  few  minutes, 
on  account  of  those  who  could  not  follow  us,  hearing 
nothing  but  the  falling  snow,  that  vague,  almost  in- 
discernible sound  which  the  flakes  make,  as  ihey 
come  down  together.  Some  of  the  men  shook 
themselves,  but  others  did  not  move,  and  so  1  gave 
the  order  to  set  off  again;  they  shouldered  their 
rifles,  and  with  weary  feet  we  set  out  again,  when 
suddenly  the  scouts  fell  back.  Something  had 
alarmed  them;  they  had  heard  voices  in  front  of 
them,  and  so  1  sent  six  men  and  a  sergeant  on 
ahead,  and  waited. 

•'All  at  once  a  shrill  cry,  a  woman's  cry,  pierced 
through  the  heavy  silence  of  the  snow,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  they  brought  back  two  prisoners,  an  old 
man  and  a  girl,  whom  I  questioned  in  a  low  voice. 
They  were  escaping  from  the  Prussians,  who  had  oc- 
cupied their  house  during  the  evening,  and  who  had 
got  drunk.  The  father  had  become  alarmed  on  his 
daughter's  account,  and,  without  even  telling  their 
servants,  they  had  made  their  escape  into  the  dark- 
ness. I  saw  immediately  that  they  belonged  to  the 
upper  classes,  and,  as  I  should  have  done  in  any 
case,  I  invited  them  to  come  with  us.  So  we  started 
off  together,  and  as  the  old  man  knew  the  road,  he 
acted  as  our  guide. 


*  Forage-caps. 


THE  COLONEL'S   IDEAS  265 

"It  had  ceased  snowing;  the  stars  appeared,  and 
the  cold  became  intense.  The  girl,  who  was  leaning 
on  her  father's  arm,  walked  wearily  and  with  jerks, 
and  several  times  she  murmured: 

"'1  have  no  feeling  at  all  in  my  feet.'  I  suf- 
fered more  than  she  did,  1  believe,  to  see  that  poor 
little  woman  dragging  herself  like  that  through  the 
snow.     But  suddenly  she  stopped,  and  said: 

"'Father,  I  am  so  tired  that  1  cannot  go  any 
further.' 

"The  old  man  wanted  to  carry  her,  but  he  could 
not  even  lift  her  up,  and  she  fell  on  the  ground  with 
a  deep  sigh.  We  all  came  round  her,  and  as  for  me, 
I  stamped  on  the  ground,  not  knowing  what  to  do, 
quite  unable  to  make  up  my  mind  to  abandon  that 
man  and  girl  like  that.  Suddenly  one  of  the  soldiers, 
a  Parisian,  whom  they  had  nicknamed  'Pratique,'  said: 

"  'Come,  comrades,  we  must  carry  the  young  lady, 
otherwise  we  shall  not  show  ourselves  Frenchmen, 
confound  it!' 

"I  really  believe  that  I  swore  v/ith  pleasure,  and 
said:  'That  is  very  good  of  you,  my  children;  1  v.iil 
take  my  share  of  the  burden.' 

"We  could  indistinctly  see  the  trees  of  a  little 
wood  on  the  left,  through  the  darkness.  Several  men 
went  into  it,  and  soon  came  back  with  a  bundle  of 
branches  twisted  into  a  litter. 

"'Who  will  lend  nis  cloak?  It  is  for  a  pretty 
girl,  comrades,'  Pratique  said,  and  ten  cloaks  were 
thrown  to  him.  In  a  moment,  the  girl  was  lying, 
warm  and  comfortable,  among  them,  and  was  raised 
upon  six  shoulders.  1  placed  myself  at  their  head,  on 
the  right,  and  very  pleased  I  was  with  my  charge. 


266  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

"We  started  off  much  more  briskly,  as  if  we  had 
been  having  a  drink  of  wine,  and  I  even  heard  a  few 
jokes.  A  woman  is  quite  enough  to  electrify  French- 
men, you  see.  The  soldiers,  who  were  reanimated 
and  warm,  had  almost  reformed  their  ranks,  and  an 
old  franc-tireiir*  who  was  following  the  litter,  wait- 
ing for  his  turn  to  replace  the  first  of  his  comrades 
who  might  give  in,  said  to  one  of  his  neighbors,  loud 
enough  for  me  to  hear: 

*"1  am  not  a  young  man,  now;  but  by  Jove,  there 
is  nothing  like  a  v/oman  to  make  you  feel  queer  from 
he,id  to  foot!' 

"We  went  on,  almost  without  stopping,  until  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  suddenly  our  scouts  fell 
back  again.  Soon  the  whole  detachment  showed 
nothing  but  a  vague  shadow  on  the  ground,  as  the 
men  lay  on  the  snow,  and  1  gave  my  orders  in  a  low 
voice,  and  heard  the  harsh,  metallic  sound  of  the 
cocking  of  rifles.  There,  in  the  middle  of  the  plain, 
some  strange  object  was  moving  about.  It  might 
have  been  taken  for  some  enormous  animal  running 
about,  which  uncoiled  itself  like  a  serpent,  or  came 
together  into  a  coil,  then  suddenly  went  quickly  to 
the  right  or  left,  stopped,  and  then  went  on  again. 
But  presently  the  wandering  shape  came  near,  and  i 
saw  a  dozen  lancers,  one  behind  the  other,  who  were 
trying  to  find  their  way,  which  they  had  lost. 

"By  this  time  they  were  so  near  that  I  could  hear 
the  panting  of  the  horses,  the  clink  of  the  swords, 
and  the  creaking  of  the  saddles,  and  so  cried:    'Fire!' 


*  Volunteers,  in    the  Franco-German  war  of  1870-71,  of  whom  the 
Germans  often  made  short  work  when  caught. 


THE  COLONEL'S  IDEAS  267 

"Fifty  rifle-shots  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night; 
then  there  were  four  or  five  reports,  and  at  last  one 
single  shot  was  heard.  When  the  smoke  had  cleared 
away  we  saw  that  the  twelve  men  and  nine  horses 
had  fallen.  Three  of  the  animals  were  galloping  away 
at  a  furious  pace.  One  of  them  was  dragging  the 
body  of  its  rider  behind  it.  His  foot  had  caught  in 
the  stirrup,  and  his  body  rebounded  from  the  ground 
in   a   horrible   way. 

"One  of  the  soldiei's  behind  me  gave  a  harsh 
laugh,  and  said:  'There  are  a  few  more  widows  now!' 

"  Perhaps  he  was  married.  And  another  added:  'It 
did  not  take  long! ' 

"A  head  was  put  out  of  the  litter: 

'"What  is  the  matter?'  she  asked;  'you  are 
fighting.?' 

"'It  is  nothing,  Mademoiselle,'  I  replied;  'we 
have  got  rid  of  a  dozen  Prussians!' 

"'Poor  fellows!'  she  said.  But  as  she  was  cold, 
she  quickly  disappeared  beneath  the  cloaks  again,  and 
we  started  off  once  more.  We  marched  on  for  a 
long  time,  and  at  last  the  sky  began  to  grow  pale. 
The  snow  became  quite  clear,  luminous,  and  bright, 
and  a  rosy  tint  appeared  in  the  east.  Suddenly  a 
voice  in  the  distance  cried: 

"  'Who  goes  there?' 

"The  whole  detachment  halted,  and  I  advanced  to 
say  who  we  were.  We  had  reached  the  French 
lines,  and  as  my  men  defiled  before  the  outpost,  a 
commandant  on  horseback,  whom  1  had  informed  of 
what  had  taken  place,  asked  in  a  sonorous  voice,  as 
he  saw  the  litter  pass  him: 

"'What  have  you  there?' 


268  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"And  immediately  a  small  head,  covered  v/ith 
light  hair,  appeared,  disheveled  and  smiling,  and  re- 
plied:        * 

"  'It  is  1,  Monsieur.* 

"At  this,  the  men  raised  a  hearty  laugh,  and  we 
felt  quite  light-hearted,  while  Pratique,  who  was 
walking  by  the  side  of  the  litter,  waved  his  k^pi^  and 
shouted: 

""Vive  la  France!'  And  I  felt  really  moved.  I 
do  not  know  why,  except  that  I  thought  it  a  pretty 
and  gallant  thing  to  say. 

"It  seemed  to  me  as  if  we  had  just  saved  the  whole 
of  France,  and  had  done  something  that  other  men 
could  not  have  done,  something  simple,  and  really 
patriotic.  I  shall  never  forget  that  little  face,  you  may 
be  sure,  and  if  I  had  to  give  my  opinion  about  abol- 
ishing drums,  trumpets,  and  bugles,  I  should  propose 
to  replace  them  in  every  regiment  by  a  pretty  girl, 
and  that  would  be  even  better  than  playing  the 
'Marseillaise.'  By  Jove!  it  would  put  some  spirit 
into  a  trooper  to  have  a  Madonna  like  that,  a  living 
Madonna,  by  the  colonel's  side." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  with 
an  air  of  conviction,  and  jerking  his  head,  continued: 

"You  see,  we  are  very  fond  of  women,  we 
Frenchmen  1" 


TWO    LITTLE    SOLDIERS 


VERY  Sunday,  the  moment  they  were 
dismissed,  the  two  little  soldiers  made 
off.  Once  outside  the  barracks,  they 
struck  out  to  the  right  through  Cour- 
bevoie,  walking  with  long  rapid  strides, 
as  though  they  were  on  a  march. 
When  they  were  beyond  the  last  of 
the  houses,  they  slackened  pace  along 
the  bare,  dusty  roadway  which  goes 
toward  B^zons. 
They  were  both  small  and  thin,  and  looked 
/  quite  lost  in  their  coats,  which  were  too  big 
and  too  long.  Their  sleeves  hung  down  over 
their  handS;  and  they  found  their  enormous  red 
breeches,  which  compelled  them  to  waddle,  very  much 
in  the  way  Under  their  stiff,  high  helmets  their  faces 
had  little  character — two  poor,  sallow  Breton  faces, 
simple  with  an  almost  animal  simplicity,  and  with 
gentle  and  quiet   blue  eyes. 

They  never  conversed  during  these  walks,  but 
went  straight  on,  each  with  the  same  thought  in  his 
head.  This  thought  atoned  for  the  lack  of  conversa- 
tion; it  was  this,  that  just  inside  the  little  wood  near 

(269) 


270  TWO   LITTLE   SOLDIERS 

Les  Champioux  they  had  found  a  place  which  re- 
minded them  of  their  own  country,  where  they  could 
feel  happy  again. 

When  they  arrived  under  the  trees  where  the 
roads  from  Colombes  and  from  Chatou  cross,  they 
would  take  off  their  heavy  hehnets  and  wipe  their 
foreheads.  They  always  halted  on  the  Bezons  bridge 
to  look  at  the  Seine,  and  would  remain  there  two  or 
three  minutes,  bent  double,  leaning  on  the  parapet. 

Sometimes  they  would  gaze  out  over  the  great 
basin  of  Argenteuil,  where  the  skiffs  might  be  seen 
scudding,  with  their  white,  careening  sails,  recalling 
perhaps  the  look  of  the  Breton  waters,  the  harbor  of 
Vanne,  near  which  they  hved,  and  the  fishing-boats 
standing  out  across  the  Morbihan  to  the  open  sea. 

Just  beyond  the  Seine  they  bought  their  provisions 
from  a  sausage  merchant,  a  baker,  and  a  wine-seller. 
A  piece  of  blood-pudding,  four  sous'  worth  of  bread, 
and  a  liter  of  "petit  bleu"  constituted  the  provisions, 
which  they  carried  off  in  their  handkerchiefs.  After 
they  had  left  Bezons  they  traveled  slowly  and  began 
to  talk. 

In  front  of  them  a  barren  plain  studded  with 
clumps  of  trees  led  to  the  wood,  to  the  little  wood 
which  had  seemed  to  them  to  resemble  the  one  at 
Kermarivan.  Grainfields  and  hayfields  bordered  the 
narrow  path,  which  lost  itself  in  the  young  greenness 
of  the  crops,  and  Jean  Kerderen  would  always  say  to 
Luc  le  Ganidec: 

"It  looks  like  it  does  near  Plounivon." 

"Yes;  exactly  " 

Side  by  side  they  strolled,  their  souls  filled  with 
vague   memories  of  their   own   country,    with   awak- 


WORKS  OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  27 1 

ened  images  as  naive  as  the  pictures  on  the  colored 
broadsheets  which  you  buy  for  a  penny.  They  kept 
on  recognizing,  as  it  were,  now  a  corner  of  a  field, 
a  hedge,  a  bit  of  moorland,  now  a  crossroad,  now 
a  granite  cross.  Then,  too,  they  would  always  stop 
beside  a  certain  landmark,  a  great  stone,  because  it 
looked  something  like  the  cromlech  at  Locneuven. 

Every  Sunday  on  arriving  at  the  first  clump  of 
trees  Luc  le  Ganidec  wou'd  cut  a  switch,  a  hazel 
switch,  and  begin  gently  to  peel  off  the  bark,  think- 
ing meanwhile  of  the  folk  at  home.  Jean  Kerderen 
carried  the  provisions. 

From  time  to  time  Luc  would  mention  a  name,  or 
recall  some  deed  of  their  childhood  in  a  few  brief 
words,  which  caused  long  thoughts.  And  their  own 
country,  their  dear,  distant  country,  recaptured  them 
little  by  little,  seizing  on  their  imaginations,  and  send- 
ing to  them  from  afar  her  shapes,  her  sounds,  her 
well-known  prospects,  her  odors  —  odors  of  the  green 
lands  where  the  salt  sea-air  was  blowing. 

No  longer  conscious  of  the  exhalations  of  the 
Parisian  stables,  on  which  the  earth  of  the  hanlicuc 
fattens,  they  scented  the  perfume  of  the  flowering 
broom,  which  the  salt  breeze  of  the  open  sea  plucks 
and  bears  away.  And  the  sails  of  the  boats  from 
the  river  banks  seemed  like  the  white  wings  of  the 
coasting  vessels  seen  beyond  the  great  plain  which 
extended  from  their  homes  to  the  very  margin  of  the 
sea. 

They  walked  with  short  steps,  Luc  le  Ganidec  and 
Jean  Kerderen,  content  and  sad,  haunted  by  a.  sweet 
melancholy,  by  the  lingering,  ever-present  sorrow  of 
a  caged  animal  who  remembers  his  liberty. 


2'-j2  TWO   LITTLE  SOLDIERS 

By  the  time  that  Luc  had  stripped  the  slender 
wand  of  its  bark  they  reached  the  corner  of  the 
wood  where  every  Sunday  they  took  breakfast.  They 
found  the  two  bricks  which  they  kept  hidden  in  the 
thicket,  and  kindled  a  little  fire  of  twigs,  over  which 
to  roast   the   blood-pudding  at   the  end  of  a  bayonet. 

When  they  had  breakfasted,  eaten  their  bread  to 
the  last  crumb,  and  drunk  their  wine  to  the  last 
drop,  they  remained  seated  side  by  side  upon  the 
grass,  saying  nothing,  their  eyes  on  the  distance, 
their  eyelids  drooping,  their  fingers  crossed  as  at 
mass,  their  red  legs  stretched  out  beside  the  poppies 
of  the  field.  And  the  leather  of  their  helmets  and 
the  brass  of  their  buttons  glittered  in  the  ardent  sun, 
making  the  larks,  which  sang  and  hovered  above 
their  heads,  cease  in  mid-song. 

Toward  noon  they  began  to  turn  their  eyes  from 
time  to  time  in  the  direction  of  the  village  of  Bezons, 
because  the  girl  with  the  cow  was  coming.  She 
passed  by  them  every  Sunday  on  her  way  to  milk 
and  change  the  pasture  of  her  cow  —  the  only  cow 
in  this  district  which  ever  went  out  of  the  stable  to 
grass.  It  was  pastured  in  a  narrow  field  along  the 
edge  of  the  wood  a  little  farther  on. 

They  soon  perceived  the  girl,  the  only  human 
being  within  vision,  and  were  gladdened  by  the  bril- 
liant reflections  thrown  off  by  the  tin  milk-pail  under 
the  rays  of  the  sun.  They  never  talked  about  her. 
They  were  simply  glad  to  see  her,  without  under- 
standing why. 

She  was  a  big  strong  wench  with  red  hair,  burned 
by  the  heat  of  sunny  days,  a  sturdy  product  of  the 
environs  of  Paris. 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  273 

Once,  finding  them  seated   in  the  same  phice,  she 
aid: 

"Good  morning.  You  two  are  always  here,  aren't 
/ou?" 

Luc  ie  Ganidec,  the  bolder,  stammered: 

"Yes,  we  come  to  rest." 

That  v/as  all.  But  the  next  Sunday  she  laughed 
on  seeing  them,  laughed  with  a  protecting  benevo- 
lence and  a  feminine  keenness  which  knew  well 
enough  that  they  were  bashful.     And  she  asked: 

"What  are  you  doing  there.?  Are  you  trying  to 
see  the  grass  grow.?" 

Luc  was  cheered  up  by  this,  and  smiled  likewise: 
"Maybe  we  are." 

"That's  pretty  slow  work,"  said  she. 

He  answered,  still  laughing:     "Well,  yes,  it  is." 

She  went  on.  But  coming  back  with  a  milk-pail 
full  of  milk,  she  stopped  again  before  them,  and  said: 

"Would  you  like  a  little?     It  will  taste  like  home." 

With  the  instinctive  feeling  that  they  were  of  the 
same  peasant  race  as  she,  being  herself  perhaps  also 
far  away  from  home,  she  had  divined  and  touched 
the  spot. 

They  were  both  touched.  Then  with  some  diffi- 
culty, she  managed  to  make  a  little  milk  run  into  the 
neck  of  the  glass  bottle  in  which  they  carried  their 
wine.  And  Luc  drank  first,  with  little  swallows, 
stopping  every  minute  to  see  whether  he  had  drunk 
more  than  his  half.  Then  he  handed  the  bottle  to 
Jean. 

She  stood  upright  before  them,  her  hands   on    her 
hips,  het   pail  on  the  ground    at    her  feet,  glad  at  the 
pleasure  which  she  had  given. 
Maup.  1—18 


274  TWO   LITTLE  SOLDIERS 

Then  she  departed,  shouting:  ''^llons,  adieu! 
Till  next  Sunday!" 

And  as  long  as  they  could  see  her  at  all,  they  followed 
with  their  eyes  her  tall  silhouette,  which  faded,  grow- 
ing smaller  and  smaller,  seeming  to  sink  into  the 
verdure  of  the  fields. 

When  they  were  leaving  the  barracks  the  week 
after,  Jean  said  to  Luc: 

"Oughtn't  we  to  buy  her  something  good?" 

They  were  in  great  embarrassment  before  the 
problem  of  the  choice  of  a  delicacy  for  the  girl  with 
the  cow.  Luc  was  of  the  opinion  that  a  little  tripe 
would  be  the  best,  but  Jean  preferred  some  berlingots 
because  he  was  fond  of  sweets.  His  choice  fairly 
made  him  enthusiastic,  and  they  bought  at  a  grocer's 
two  sous'  worth  of  white  and  red  candies. 

They  ate  their  breakfast  more  rapidly  than  usual, 
being  nervous  with  expectation. 

Jean  saw  her  first.  "There  she  is!"  he  cried. 
Luc  added:  "Yes,  there  she  is." 

While  yet  some  distance  off  she  laughed  at  seeing 
them.     Then  she  cried: 

"Is  everything  going  as  you  like  it?" 

And  in  unison  they  asked: 

"Are  you  getting  on  all  right?" 

Then  she  conversed,  talked  to  them  of  simple 
things  in  which  they  felt  an  interest  —  of  the  weather, 
of  the  crops,  and  of  her  master.  ' 

They  were  afraid  to  offer  her  the  candies,  which 
were  slowly  melting  away  in  Jean's  pocket. 

At  last  Luc  grew  bold,  and  murmured: 

"We  have  brought  you  something." 

She  demanded,   "What  is  it?    Tell  me!" 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  275 

Then  Jean,  blushing  up  to  his  ears,  managed  to 
get  at  the  little  paper  cornucopia,  and  held  it  out. 

She  began  to  eat  the  little  bonbons,  rolling  them 
from  one  cheek  to  the  other  where  they  made  little 
round  lumps.  The  two  soldiers,  seated  before  her, 
gazed  at  her  with  emotion  and  delight. 

Then  she  went  to  milk  her  cow,  and  once  more 
gave  them  some  milk  on  coming  back. 

They  thought  of  her  all  the  week;  several  times 
they  even  spoke  of  her.  The  next  Sunday  she  sat 
down  with  them  for  a  little  longer  talk;  and  all  three, 
seated  side  by  side,  their  eyes  lost  in  the  distance, 
clasping  their  knees  with  their  hands,  told  the  small 
doings,  the  minute  details  of  life  in  the  villages  where 
they  had  been  born,  while  over  there  the  cow,  see- 
ing that  the  milkmaid  had  stopped  on  her  way, 
stretched  out  toward  her  its  heavy  head  with  its 
dripping  nostrils,  and  gave  a  long  low  to  call  her. 

Soon  the  girl  consented  to  eat  a  bit  of  bread  with 
them  and  drink  a  mouthful  of  wine.  She  often 
brought  them  plums  in  her  pocket,  for  the  season  of 
plums  had  come.  Her  presence  sharpened  the  wits 
of  the  two  little  Breton  soldiers,  and  they  chattered 
like  two  birds. 

But,  one  Tuesday,  Luc  le  Ganidec  asked  for  leave 
—  a  thing  which  had  never  happened  before  — and  he 
did  not  return  until  ten  o'clock  at  night.  Jean  racked 
his  brains  uneasily  for  a  reason  for  his  comrade's  go- 
ing out  in  this  way. 

The  next  Thursday  Luc,  having  borrowed  ten  sous 
trom  his  bedfellow,  again  asked  and  obtained  per- 
mission to  leave  the  barracks  for  several  hours.  When 
he  set   off  with  Jean  on  their   Sunday  walk  his  man- 


276  TWO   LITTLE  SOLDIERS 

ner  was  very  queer,  quite  restless,  and  quite  changed. 
Kerderen  did  not  understand,  but  he  vaguely  suspected 
something  without  divining  what  it  could  be. 

They  did  not  say  a  word  to  one  another  until 
they  reached  their  usual  halting-place,  where,  from 
their  constant  sitting  in  the  same  spot  the  grass  was 
quite  worn  away.  They  ate  their  breakfast  slowly. 
Neither  of  them  felt  hungry. 

Before  long  the  girl  appeared.  As  on  every  Sun- 
day, they  watched  her  coming.  When  she  was  quite 
near,  Luc  rose  and  made  two  steps  forward.  She  put 
her  milk-pail  on  the  ground  and  kissed  him.  She 
kissed  him  passionately,  throwing  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  without  noticing  Jean,  without  remembering 
that  he  was  there,  without  even  seeing  him. 

And  he  sat  there  desperate,  poor  Jean,  so  desperate 
that  he  did  not  understand,  his  soul  quite  overwhelmed, 
his  heart  bursting,  but  not  yet  understanding  himself. 
Then  the  girl  seated  herself  beside  Luc,  and  they  be- 
gan to  chatter. 

Jean  did  not  look  at  them.  He  now  divined  why 
his  comrade  had  gene  out  twice  during  the  week, 
and  he  felt  within  him  a  burning  grief,  a  kind  of 
wound,  that  sense  of  rending  which  is  caused  by 
treason. 

Luc  and  the  girl  went  off  together  to  change  the 
position  of  the  cow.  Jean  follov/ed  them  with  his 
eyes.  He  saw  them  departing  side  by  side.  The  red 
breeches  of  his  comrade  made  a  bright  spot  on  the 
road.  It  was  Luc  who  picked  up  the  mallet  and  ham- 
mered down  the  stake  to  which  they  tied  the  beast. 

The  girl  stooped  to  milk  her,  while  he  stroked  the 
cow's  sharp   spine  with  a  careless   hand.     Then  they 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  277 

left  the  milk-pail  on  the  grass,  and  went  deep  into 
the  wood. 

Jean  saw  nothing  but  the  wall  of  leaves  where 
they  had  entered;  and  he  felt  himself  so  troubled  that 
if  he  had  tried  to  rise  he  would  certainly  have  fallen. 
He  sat  motionless,  stupefied  by  astonishment  and  suf- 
fering, with  an  agony  which  was  simple  but  deep. 
He  wanted  to  cry,  to  run  away,  to  hide  himself,  never 
to  see  anybody  any  more. 

Soon  he  saw  them  issuing  from  the  thicket.  They 
returned  slowly,  holding  each  other's  hands  as  in  the 
villages  do  those  who  are  promised.  It  was  Luc  who 
carried  the  pail. 

They  kissed  one  another  again  before  they  sepa- 
rated, and  the  girl  went  off  after  having  thrown  Jean 
a  friendly  "Good  evening"  and  a  smile  which  was 
full  of  meaning.  To-day  she  no  longer  thought  of 
offering  him  any  milk. 

The  two  little  soldiers  sat  side  by  side,  motionless 
as  usual,  silent  and  calm,  their  placid  faces  betraying 
nothing  of  all  which  troubled  their  hearts.  The  sun 
fell  on  them.  Sometimes  the  cow  lowed,  looking  at 
them  from  afar. 

At  their  usual  hour  they  rose  to  go  back.  Luc 
cut  a  switch.  Jean  carried  the  empty  bottle  to  return 
it  to  the  wine-seller  at  Bdzons.  Then  they  sallied  out 
upon  the  bridge,  and,  as  they  did  every  Sunday, 
stopped  several  minutes  in  the  middle  to  watch  the 
water  flowing. 

Jean  leaned,  leaned  more  and  more,  over  the  iron 
railing,  as  though  he  saw  in  the  current  something 
which  attracted  hir.i.  Luc  said:  "Are  you  trying  to 
drink?"    just  as  he  uttered  the  last  word  Jean's  head 


27?^  TWO   LITTLE  SOLDIERS 

overbalanced  his  body,  his  legs  described  a  circle  in 
the  air,  and  the  little  blue  and  red  soldier  fell  in  a 
heap,  struck  the  water,  and  disappeared. 

Luc,  his  tongue  paralyzed  with  anguish,  tried  in 
vain  to  shout.  Farther  down  he  saw  something  stir; 
then  the  head  of  his  comrade  rose  to  the  surf^ice  of 
the  river  and  sank  immediately.  Farther  still  he  again 
perceived  a  hand,  a  single  hand,  which  issued  from 
the  stream  and  then  disappear.     That  was  all. 

The  bargemen  who  dragged  the  river  did  not 
find  the  body  that  day. 

Luc  set  out  alone  for  the  barracks,  going  at  a  run, 
his  soul  filled  with  despair.  He  told  of  the  accident, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  a  husky  voice,  blowing 
his  nose  again  and  again:  "He  leaned  over — he  — 
he  leaned  over  —  so  far  —  so  far  that  his  head  turned 
a  somersault;  and  —  and  —  so  he  fell  —  he  fell  —  " 

Choked  with  emotion,  he  could  say  no  more.  If 
he  had  only  known  1 


GHOSTS 


UST  at  the    time  when  the  Concordat 
was  in   its  most  tlourishing   condi- 
tion, a   young  man   belonging  to  a 
wealthy    and     highly     respectable 
middle-class    family    went     to    the 
office   of  the    head   of  the  police  at 

P ,  and  begged  for  his  help  and 

advice,  which  was  immediately  prom- 
ised him. 

"My  father  threatens  to  disinherit 
,"  the  young  man  began,  "although 
•  I  have  never  offended  against  the  laws 
of  the  State,  of  morality,  or  against  his  pa- 
ternal authority,  merely  because  I  do  not  share 
his  blind  reverence  for  the  Catholic  Church  and  her 
clergy.  On  that  account  he  looks  upon  me,  not 
merely  as  Latitudinarian  but  as  a  perfect  Atheist,  and 
a  faithful  old  manservant  of  ours,  who  is  much  at- 
tached to  me,  and  who  accidentally  saw  my  father's 
will,  told  me  in  confidence  that  he  had  left  all  his 
property  to  the  Jesuits.  I  think  this  is  highly  suspi- 
cious, and  I  fear  that  the  priests  have  been  maligning 
me  to  my  father.     Until  less  than  a  year  ago,  we  used 

(279) 


280  GHOSTS 

to  live  very  quietly  and  happily  together,  but  ever 
since  he  has  had  so  much  to  do  with  the  clergy, 
our  domestic  peace  and  happiness  are  at  an  end." 

"What  you  have  told  me,"  replied  the  official, 
"is  as  likely  as  it  is  regrettable,  but  I  fail  to  see  how 
I  can  interfere  in  the  matter.  Your  father  is  in  full 
possession  of  all  his  mental  faculties,  and  can  dispose 
of  all  his  property  exactly  as  he  pleases.  I  think  that 
your  protest  is  premature;  you  must  wait  until  his 
will  can  legally  take  effect,  and  then  you  can  invoke 
the  aid  of  justice.  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  just  now  I 
can  do  nothing  for  you." 

"I  think  you  will  be  able  to,"  the  young  man  re- 
pHed;  "for  1  believe  that  a  very  clever  piece  of  deceit 
is  being  carried  on." 

"How?     Please  explain  yourself  more  clearly." 

"When  I  remonstrated  with  him,  yesterday  even- 
ing, he  referred  to  my  dead  mother,  and  at  last  as- 
sured me,  in  a  voice  of  the  deepest  conviction,  that 
she  had  frequently  appeared  to  him,  had  threatened 
him  with  all  the  torments  of  the  damned,  if  he  did 
not  disinherit  his  son,  who  had  fallen  away  from  God, 
and  leave  all  his  property  to  the  Church.  Now  I  do 
not  believe  in  ghosts." 

"Neither  do  I,"  the  police  director  replied,  "but 
I  cannot  well  do  anything  on  such  grounds,  having 
nothing  but  superstitions  to  go  upon.  You  know 
how  the  Church  rules  all  our  affairs  since  the  Con- 
cordat with  Rome,  and  if  I  investigate  this  matter 
and  obtain  no  results,  I  am  risking  my  post.  It 
would  be  very  different  if  you  could  adduce  any 
proofs  for  your  suspicions.  I  do  not  deny  that  I 
should   like   to   see   the   clerical   party,    which   will,  J 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  2SI 

fear,  be  the  ruin  of  Austria,  receive  a  staggering 
blow;  try,  therefore,  to  get  to  the  bottom  of  this 
business,  and  then  we  will  talk  it  over  again." 

About  a  month  passed,  without  the  young  Lati- 
tudinarian  being  heard  of.  Suddenly,  he  came  one 
evening,  in  a  great  state  of  excitement,  and  told  the 
Inspector  that  he  was  in  a  position  to  expose  the 
priestly  deceit  which  he  had  mentioned,  if  the  au- 
thorities would  assist  him.  The  police  director  asked 
for  further  information. 

"I  have  obtained  a  number  of  important  clues," 
said  the  young  man.  "In  the  first  place,  my  father 
confessed  to  me  that  my  mother  did  not  appear  to 
him  in  our  house,  but  in  the  churchyard  where  she  is 
buried.  My  mother  was  consumptive  for  many  years, 
and  a  few  weeks  before   her  death  she  y/ent  to  the 

village  of  S ,  where  she  died  and  was  buried.    In 

addition  to  this,  I  found  out  from  our  footman  that 
my   father   has   already   left  the   house   twice,    late   at 

night,    in   company    of  X ,  the  Jesuit    priest,    and 

that  on  both  occasions  he  did  not  return  till  morning. 
Each  time  he  was  remarkably  uneasy  and  low-spirited 
after  his  return,  and  had  three  masses  said  for  my 
dead  mother.  He  also  told  me  just  now  that  he  has 
to  leave  home  this  evening  on  business,  but,  immedi- 
ately after  he  told  me  that,  our  footman  saw  the  Jesuit 
go  out  of  the  house.  We  may,  therefore,  assume  that 
he  intends  this  evening  to  consuit  the  spirit  of  my 
dead  mother  again,  and  this  would  be  an  excellent 
opportunity  to  solve  the  matter,  if  you  do  not  object  to 
opposing  the  most  powerful  force  in  the  Empire  for 
the  sake  of  such  an  insignificant  individual  as  myself" 

"Every  citizen  has  an   equal  right  to  the  protec- 


282  GHOSTS 

tion  of  the  State,"  the  poHce  director  rephed;  "and  I 
think  that  1  have  shown  often  enough  that  I  am  not 
wanting  in  courage  to  perform  my  duty,  no  matter 
how  serious  the  consequences  may  be.  But  only 
very  young  men  act  without  any  prospects  of  success, 
because  they  are  carried  away  by  their  feehngs. 
When  you  came  to  me  the  first  time,  1  was  obhged 
to  refuse  your  request  for  assistance,  but  to-day  your 
request  is  just  and  reasonable.  It  is  now  eight 
o'clock;  I  shall  expect  you  in  two  hours'  time,  here 
in  my  office.  At  present,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
hold  your  tongue;  everything  else  is  my  affair." 

As  soon  as  it  was  dark,  four  men  got  into  a 
closed   carriage   in    the   yard  of  the    police-office,  and 

were  driven  in  the  direction  of  the  village   of  S . 

Their  carriage,  however,  did  not  enter  the  village,  but 
stopped  at  the  edge  of  a  small  wood  in  the  immedi- 
ate neighborhood.  Here  all  four  alighted:  the  police 
director,  accompanied  by  the  young  Latitudinarian,  a 
police  sergeant,  and  an  ordinary  policeman,  the  latter 
however,  dressed  in  plain  clothes. 

"The  first  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to  examine  the 
locality  carefully,"  said  the  police  director.  "It  is 
eleven  o'clock  and  the  exercisers  of  ghosts  will  not 
arrive  before  midnight,  so  we  have  time  to  look 
round  us,  and  to  lay  our  plans." 

The  four  men  went  to  the  churchyard,  which  lay 
at  the  end  of  the  village,  near  the  little  wood.  Every- 
thing was  as  still  as  death,  and  not  a  soul  was  to  be 
seen.  The  sexton  was  evidently  sitting  in  the  public 
house,  for  they  found  the  door  of  his  cottage  locked, 
as  well  as  the  door  'of  the  little  chapel  that  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  churchyard. 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  283 

"Where  is  your  mother's  grave?"  the  police  di- 
rector asked.  As  there  were  only  a  few  stars  visible, 
it  was  not  easy  to  find  it,  but  at  last  they  managed 
it,  and  the  police  director  surveyed  the  neighborhood 
of  it. 

"The  position  is  not  a  very  favorable  one  for  us," 
he  said  at  last;  "there  is  nothing  here,  not  even  a 
shrub,  behind  which  we  could  hide."        , 

But  just  then,  the  policeman  reported  that  he  had 
tried  to  get  into  the  sexton's  hut  through  the  door 
or  a  window,  and  that  at  last  he  had  succeeded  in 
doing  so  by  breaking  open  a  square  in  a  window 
which  had  been  mended  with  paper,  that  he  had 
opened  it  and  obtained  possession  of  the  key,  which 
he  brought  to  the  police  director. 

The  plans  were  very  quickly  settled.  The  police 
director  had  the  chapel  opened  and  went  in  with  the 
young  Latitudinarian;  then  he  told  the  police  sergeant 
to  lock  the  door  behind  him  and  to  put  the  key  back 
where  he  had  found  it,  and  to  shut  the  window  of  the 
sexton's  cottage  carefully.  Lastly,  he  made  arrange- 
ments as  to  what  they  were  to  do,  in  case  anything 
unforeseen  should  occur,  whereupon  the  sergeant  and 
the  constable  left  the  churchyard,  and  lay  down  in  a 
ditch  at  some  distance  from  the  gate,  but  opposite  to  it. 

Almost  as  soon  as  the  clock  struck  half  past  eleven, 
they  heard  steps  near  the  chapel,  whereupon  the 
police  director  and  the  young  Latitudinarian  went  to 
the  window  in  order  to  watch  the  beginning  of  the 
exorcism,  and  as  the  chapel  was  in  total  darkness, 
they  thought  that  they  should  be  able  to  see  without 
being  seen;  but  matters  turned  out  differently  from 
what   they  expected. 


2S4  GHOSTS 

Suddenly,  the  key  turned  in  the  lock.  They  barely 
had  time  to  conceal  themselves  behind  the  altar,  be- 
fore two  men  came  in,  one  of  whom  was  carrying  a 
dark  lantern.  One  was  the  young  man's  father,  an 
elderly  man  of  the  middle  class,  who  seemed  very 
unhappy  and  depressed,  the  other  the  Jesuit  father 
X ,  a  tall,  lean,  big-boned  man,  with  a  thin,  bil- 
ious face,  in  which  two  large  gray  eyes  shone  rest- 
lessly under  bushy,  black  eyebrows.  He  lit  the 
tapers,  v/hich  were  standing  on  the  altar,  and  began 
to  say  a  "Requiem  Mass";  while  the  old  man  kneeled 
on  the  altar  steps  and  served  him. 

When  it  was  over,  the  Jesuit  took  the  book  of 
the  Gospels  and  the  holy-water  sprinkler,  and  went 
slowly  out  of  the  chapel,  the  old  man  following  him 
with  the  holy-water  basin  in  one  hand,  and  a  taper  in 
the  other.  Then  the  police  director  left  his  hiding 
place,  and  stooping  down,  so  as  not  to  be  seen, 
crept  to  the  chapel  window,  where  he  cowered  down 
carefully;  the  young  man  follov/ed  his  example. 
They  were  now  looking  straight  at  his  mother's 
grave. 

The  Jesuit,  followed  by  the  superstitious  old  man, 
walked  three  times  round  the  grave;  then  he  re- 
mained standing  before  it,  and  by  the  light  of  the 
taper  read  a  few  passages  from  the  Gospel.  Then  he 
dipped  the  holy-water  sprinkler  three  times  into  the 
holy-water  basin,  and  sprinkled  the  grave  three  times. 
Then  both  returned  to  the  chapel,  kneeled  down  out- 
side it  with  their  faces  toward  the  grave,  and  began 
to  pray  aloud,  until  at  last  the  Jesuit  sprang  up,  in  a 
species  of  wild  ecstasy,  and  cried  out  three  times  in 
a  shrill  voice; 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  2S5 

'  'Exsurge  !    Exsurge  !    Exsiirge  /  "  * 

Scarcely  had  the  last  words  of  the  exorcism  died 
away,  when  thick,  blue  smoke  rose  out  of  the 
grave,  rapidly  grew  into  a  cloud,  and  began  to  as- 
sume the  outlines  of  a  human  body,  until  at  last  a 
tall,  white  figure  stood  behind  the  grave,  and  beck- 
oned with  its  hand. 

"Who  art  thou?"  the  Jesuit  asked  solemnly, 
while  the  old  man  began  to  cry. 

"When  I  was  alive,  1  was  called  Anna  Maria 
B ,"  replied  the  ghost  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"Will  you  answer  all  my  questions?"  the  priest 
continued. 

"As  far  as  I  can." 

"Have  you  not  yet  been  delivered  from  purgatory 
by  our  prayers,  and  by  all  the  Masses  for  your  soul, 
which  we  have  said  for  you?" 

"Not  yet,  but  soon,  sool  1  shall  be." 

"When?" 

"As  soon  as  that  blasphemer,  my  son,  has  been 
punished." 

"Has  that  not  already  happened?  Has  not  your 
husband  disinherited  his  lost  son,  and  in  his  place 
made  the  Church  his  heir?" 

"That  is  not  enough." 

"What  must  he  do  besides?" 

"He  must  deposit  his  will  with  the  Judicial  Au- 
thorities, as  his  last  will  and  testament,  and  drive  the 
reprobate  out  of  his  house." 

"Consider  well  what  you  are  saying;  must  this 
really  be?" 

*  Arise! 


486  GHOSTS 

"It  must,  or  otherwise  I  shall  have  to  languish  in 
purgatory  much  longer,"  the  sepulchral  voice  replied 
with  a  deep  sigh;  but  the  next  moment  the  ghost 
yelled  out  in  terror:  "Oh!  Good  Lord!"  and  began 
to  run  away  as  fast  as  it  could.  A  shrill  whistle 
was  heard,  and  then  another,  and  the  poUce  director 
laid  his  hand  on  the  shoulder  of  the  exorciser  with 
the  remark: 

"You  are  in  custody." 

Meanwhile,  the  police  sergeant  and  the  policeman, 
v/ho  had  come  into  the  churchyard,  had  caught  the 
ghost,  and  dragged  it  forward.  It  was  the  sexton, 
who  had  put  on  a  flowing,  white  dress,  and  wore  a 
wax  mask,  which  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  his 
mother,  so  the  son  declared. 

When  the  case  was  heard,  it  was  proved  that  the 
mask  had  been  very  skillfully  made  from  a  portrait  of 
the  deceased  woman.  The  government  gave  orders 
that  the  matter  should  be   investigated   as   secretly  as 

possible,  and  left  the  punishment  of  Father  X to 

the  spiritual  authorities,  which  was  a  matter  of  neces- 
sity, at  a  time  when  priests  were  outside  of  the  juris- 
diction of  the  civil   authorities.     It   is    needless  to  say 

that   Father  X was   very   comfortable    during    his 

imprisonment  in  a  monastery,  in  a  part  of  the  country 
which  abounded  with  game  and  trout. 

The  only  valuable  result  of  the  amusing  ghost 
story  was  that  it  brought  about  a  reconciliation  be- 
tween father  and  son;  the  former,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
felt  such  deep  respect  for  priests  and  their  ghosts  in 
consequence  of  the  apparition,  that  a  short  time  after 
his  wife  had  left  purgatory  for  the  last  time  in  ordei 
to  talk  with  him,  he  turned  Protestaat. 


WAS    IT    A    DREAM? 


I 


HAD  loved  her  madiv! 

"  Why  does  one  love  ?     Why  does 
one  love  ?     How  queer    it    is   to  see 
only    one    being    in    the    world,    to 
have  only  one  thouo;ht  in  one's  mind, 
only  one  desire  in  the  heart,  and  only 
one  name  on    the   lips  —  a  name  which 
comes    up    continually,    rising,    like    the 
water  in  a  spring,  from  the  depths  of  the 
soul  to  the  lips,  a  name  v/hich  one  repeats 
over   and   over   again,    which    one    whispers 
ceaselessly,   everywhere,  like   a  prayer. 
^51  "I  am  going  to  tell  you  our  story,  for  love 

tP  only  has  one,  which  is  alv/ays  the  same.  1  met 
her  and  loved  her;  that  is  all.  And  for  a  whole  year 
I  have  lived  on  her  tenderness,  on  her  caresses,  in  her 
arms,  in  her  dresses,  on  her  words,  so  completely 
wrapped  up,  bound,  and  absorbed  in  everything  which 
came  from  her,  that  I  no  longer  cared  whether  it 
was  day  or  night,  or  whether  I  was  dead  or  alive,  on 
this  old  earth  of  ours. 

"And  then  she    died.     How?     I  do  not  know;    I 
no  longer  know  anythmg.     But  one  evening  she  came 

(287) 


288  WAS  IT   A   DREAM? 

home  wet,  for  it  was  raining  heavily,  and  the  next 
day  she  coughed,  and  she  coughed  for  about  a  week, 
and  took  to  her  bed.  What  happened  I  do  r.ot  re- 
member now,  but  doctors  came,  wrote,  and  went 
away.  Medicines  were  brouglit,  and  some  women 
made  her  drink  them.  Her  hands  were  hot,  her  fore- 
head was  burning,  and  her  eyes  bright  and  sad. 
When  I  spoke  to  her,  she  answered  me,  but  I  do  not 
lemember  what  we  said.  I  have  forgotten  everything, 
everything,  everything!  She  died,  and  I  very  well  re- 
member her  slight,  feeble  sigh.  The  nurse  said:  'Ahl' 
and  I  understood,  I  understood! 

"I  knew  nothing  more,  nothing.  I  saw  a  priest, 
v/ho  said:  'Your  mistress?'  and  it  seemed  to  me  as 
if  he  were  insulting  her.  As  she  was  dead,  nobody 
had  the  right  to  say  that  any  longer,  and  I  turned 
him  out.  Another  came  who  was  very  kind  and 
tender,  and  I  shed  tears  when  he  spoke  to  me  about 
her. 

''They  consulted  me  about  the  funeral,  but  I  do 
not  remember  anything  that  they  said,  though  I  re- 
collected the  coffm,  and  the  sound  of  the  hammer  when 
they  nailed  her  down  in  it.     Oh!  God,  God! 

"She  was  buried!  Buried!  She!  In  that  hole! 
Some  people  came  —  female  friends.  I  made  my 
escape  and  ran  away.  1  ran,  and  then  walked  through 
the  streets,  went  home,  and  the  next  day  started  on  a 
journey. 

♦  %  %  ♦  %  V  V 

"Yesterday  I  returned  to  Paris,  and  when  I  saw 
my  room  again  —  our  room,  our  bed,  our  furniture, 
e^verything  that  remains  of  the  life  of  a  human  being 
after  death  —  I  was  seized  by  such  a  violent  attack  of 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  28Q 

fresh  grief,  that  I  felt  like  opening  the  window  and 
throwing  myself  out  into  the  street.  I  could  not  re- 
main any  longer  among  these  things,  between  these 
walls  which  had  inclosed  and  sheltered  her,  which 
retained  a  thousand  atoms  of  her,  of  her  skin  and  of 
her  breath,  in  their  imperceptible  crevices.  I  took  up 
my  hat  to  make  my  escape,  and  just  as  I  reached  the 
door,  I  passed  the  large  glass  in  the  hall,  which  she 
had  put  there  so  that  she  might  look  at  herself  every 
day  from  head  to  foot  as  she  went  out,  to  see  if  her 
toilette  looked  well,  and  was  correct  and  pretty,  from 
her  little  boots  to  her  bonnet. 

"I  stopped  short  in  front  of  that  looking-glass  in 
which  she  had  so  often  been  reflected  —  so  often,  so 
often,  that  it  must  have  retained  her  reflection.  I  v/as 
standing  there,  trembling,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  the 
glass  —  on  that  flat,  profound,  empty  glass  —  which 
had  contained  her  entirely,  and  had  possessed  her  as 
much  as  I,  as  my  passionate  looks  had.  I  felt  as  if  I 
loved  that  glass.  I  touched  it;  it  was  cold.  Oh!  the 
recollection!  sorrowful  mirror,  burning  mirror,  horrible 
mirror,  to  make  men  suffer  such  torments!  Happy  is 
the  man  whose  heart  forgets  everything  that  it  has 
contained,  everything  that  has  passed  before  it,  every- 
thing that  has  looked  at  itself  in  it,  or  has  been  re- 
flected in  its  affection,  in  its  love!     How  I  suffer! 

"I  went  out  without  knowing  it,  without  wishing 
it,  and  toward  the  cemetery.  1  found  her  simple 
grave,  a  white  marble  cross,  with  these  few  words: 

"'She  loved,  was  loved,  and  died.* 

"She  is  there,  below,  decayed!  How  horrible!  I 
sobbed  with  my  forehead  on  the  ground,  and  !  stopped 

Muup.  I— 19 


290  WAS    IT   A    DREAM? 

there  for  a  long  time,  a  long  time.  Then  I  saw 
that  it  was  getting  dark,  and  a  strange,  mad  wish, 
the  wish  of  a  despairing  lover,  seized  me.  I  wished 
to  pass  the  night,  the  last  night,  in  weepmg  on  her 
grave.  But  I  should  be  seen  and  driven  out.  How 
was  I  to  manage.?  I  was  cunning,  and  got  up  and 
began  to  roam  about  in  that  city  of  the  dead.  I 
walked  and  walked.  How  small  this  city  is,  in  com- 
parison with  the  other,  the  city  in  which  we  live. 
And  yet,  how  much  more  num&rous  the  dead  are 
than  the  living.  We  want  high  houses,  wide  streets, 
and  much  room  for  the  four  generations  who  see  the 
daylight  at  the  same  time,  drink  water  from  the 
spring,  and  wine  from  the  vines,  and  eat  bread  from 
the  plains. 

"And  for  all  the  generations  of  the  dead,  for  all 
that  ladder  of  humanity  that  has  descended  down  to 
us,  there  is  scarcely  anything,  scarcely  anything!  The 
earth  takes  them  back,  and  oblivion  effaces  them. 
Adieu! 

"At  the  end  of  the  cemetery,  I  suddenly  perceived 
that  I  was  in  its  oldest  part,  where  those  who  had 
been  dead  a  long  time  are  mingling  with  the  soil, 
where  the  crosses  themselves  are  decayed,  where  pos- 
sibly newcomers  will  be  put  to-morrow.  It  is  full  of 
untended  roses,  of  strong  and  dark  cypress-trees,  a 
sad  and  beautiful  garden,   nourished  on  human  flesh. 

"1  was  alone,  perfectly  alone.  So  I  crouched  in 
a  green  tree  and  hid  myself  there  completely  amid 
the  thick  and  somber  branches.  I  waited,  clinging  to 
the  stem,  like  a  shipwrecked  man  does  to  a  plank. 

"When  it  was  quite  dark,  I  left  my  refuge  and 
began  to  walk  softly,  slowly,  inaudibly,  through  that 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT  29 1 

ground  full  of  dead  people.  I  wandered  about  for  a 
long  time,  but  could  not  find  her  tomb  again.  I 
went  on  with  extended  arms,  knocking  against  the 
tombs  with  my  hands,  my  feet,  my  knees,  my  chest, 
even  with  my  head,  without  being  able  to  find  her. 
I  groped  about  like  a  blind  man  finding  his  way,  I 
felt  the  stones,  the  crosses,  the  iron  railings,  the 
metal  wreaths,  and  the  wreaths  of  faded  flowers!  I 
read  the  names  with  my  fingers,  by  passing  them 
over  the  letters.  What  a  night!  What  a  night!  I 
could  not  find  her  again! 

"There  was  no  moon.  What  a  night!  I  was 
frightened,  horribly  frightened  in  these  narrow  paths, 
between  two  rows  of  graves.  Graves!  graves!  graves! 
nothing  but  graves!  On  my  right,  on  my  left,  in 
front  of  me,  around  me,  everywhere  there  were 
graves!  I  sat  down  on  one  of  them,  for  1  could  not 
walk  any  longer,  my  knees  were  so  weak.  I  could 
hear  my  heart  beat!  And  1  heard  something  else  as 
well.  What?  A  confused,  nameless  noise.  Was  the 
noise  in  my  head,  in  the  impenetrable  night,  or  be- 
neath the  mysterious  earth,  the  earth  sown  with 
human  corpses?  I  looked  all  around  me,  but  I  can- 
not say  how  long  I  remained  there;  I  was  paralyzed 
with  terror,  cold  with  fright,  ready  to  shout  out, 
ready  to  die. 

"Suddenly,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  slab  of 
marble  on  which  I  was  sitting,  was  moving.  Cer- 
tainly it  was  moving,  as  if  it  were  being  raised. 
With  a  bound,  I  sprang  on  to  the  neighboring  tomb, 
and  I  saw,  yes,  I  distinctly  saw  the  stone  which  1 
had  just  quitted  rise  upright.  Then  the  dead  person 
appeared,  a   naked    skeleton,  pushing  the   stone  back 


292  WAS    IT   A    DREAM? 

with  its  bent  back.     I  saw   it   quite   clearly,  although 
the  night  was  so  dark.     On  the  cross  I  could  read: 

'"Here  lies  Jacques  Olivant,  who  died  at  the  age  of  fifty-one. 
He  loved  his  family,  was  kind  and  honorable,  and  died  in  the  grace 
of  the  Lord.' 

"The  dead  man  also  read  what  was  inscribed  on 
his  tombstone;  then  he  picked  up  a  stone  off  the 
path,  a  little,  pointed  stone  and  began  to  scrape  the 
letters  carefully.  He  slowly  effaced  them,  and  with 
the  hollows  of  his  eyes  he  looked  at  the  places  where 
they  had  been  engraved.  Then  with  the  tip  of  the  bone 
that  had  been  his  forefinger,  he  wrote  in  luminous 
letters,  like  those  lines  which  boys  trace  on  walls 
with  the  tip  of  a  lucifer  match: 

"'Here  reposes  Jacques  Oiivant,  who  died  at  the  age  of  fifty -one. 
He  hastened  his  father's  death  by  his  unkindness,  as  he  wir.hed  to  in- 
herit his  fortune,  he  tortured  his  wife,  tormented  his  children,  de- 
ceived his  neighbors,  robbed   everyone  he  could,  and  died  wretched.' 

"When  he  had  finished  writing,  the  dead  man 
stood  motionless,  looking  at  his  work.  On  turn- 
ing round  I  saw  that  all  the  graves  were  open,  that 
all  the  dead  bodies  had  emerged  from  them,  and  that 
all  had  effaced  the  hes  inscribed  on  the  gravestones 
by  their  relations,  substituting  the  truth  instead.  And 
I  saw  that  all  had  been  the  tormentors  of  their  neigh- 
bors—  malicious,  dishonest,  hypocrites,  liars,  rogues, 
calumniators,  envious;  that  they  had  stolen,  deceived, 
performed  every  disgraceful,  every  abominable  action, 
these  good  fathers,  these  faithful  wives,  these  devoted 
sons,  these  chaste  daughters,  these  honest  tradesmen, 
these  men  and  women  who  were  called  irreproach- 
able.   They  were   all  writing   at   the   same   time,  on 


WORKS  OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  29' 

the  threshold  of  their  eternal  abode,  the  truth,  the 
terrible  and  the  holy  truth  of  which  everybody  was 
ignorant,  oi  pretended  to  be  ignorant,  while  they 
were  alive, 

"1  thought  thiit  she  also  must  have  written  some- 
thing on  her  tombstone,  and  now  running  without 
any  fear  among  the  half-open  coffins,  among  the 
corpses  and  skeletons,  I  went  toward  her,  sure  that 
I  should  find  her  immediately.  I  recognized  her  at 
once,  without  seeing  her  face,  which  was  covered 
by  the  winding-sheet,  and  on  the  marble  cross,  v/here 
shortly  before  I  had  read: 

"'She  loved,  was  loved,  and  died,' 

!  now  saw: 

" '  Having  gone  out  in  the  rain  one  day,  in  order  to  deceive  her 
lover,  she  caught  cold  and  died.' 

******* 

"It  appears  that   they  found   me  at  daybreak,  lying 
on  the  giave  unconscious." 


THE    DIARY    OF    A    MADMAN 


E  WAS  dead  —  the  head  of  a  high 

tribunal,  the  upright    magistrate, 

whose    irreproachable  life  was  a 

proverb  in  all  the  courts  of  France. 

Advocates,  young  counselors,  judges 

had   saluted,  bov/ing  low  in  token  oi 

profound  "  respect,    remembering    that 

grand  face,  pale  and  thin,  illumined  by 

two  bright,  deep-set  eyes. 

•  '         He    had    passed   his  life    in    pursuing 

crime  and  in  protecting  the  weak.     Swin- 

y**/         dlers   and   murderers   had  no  more  redoubt- 

fef^        able   enemy,   for   he    seemed   to   read   in   th? 

r  recesses     of    their     souls     their     most    secret 

thoughts. 

He  was  dead,  now,  at  the  age  of  eighty-two,  hon- 
ored by  the  homage  and  followed  by  the  regrets  of  a 
whole  people.  Soldiers  in  red  breeches  had  escorted 
him  to  the  tomb,  and  men  in  white  cravats  had  shed 
on  his  grave  tears  that  seemed  to  be  real. 

But  listen  to  the  strange  paper  found  by  the  dis- 
mayed notary  in  the  desk  where  the  judge  had 
'^.  (294) 


WORKS  OF   GUY   DF   MAUPASSANT  29=, 

kept    filed    the    records    of  great    criminals  1      It    was 
entitled: 

WHY? 

June  20,  1851.  I  have  just  left  court.  I  have  con- 
demned Blondel  to  death!  Now,  why  did  this  man 
kill  his  five  children  ?  Frequently  one  meets  with 
people  to  whom  killing  is  a  pleasure.  Yes,  yes,  it 
should  be  a  pleasure — the  greatest  of  all,  perhaps,  for 
is  not  killing  most  like  creating?  To  make  and  to 
destroy!  These  two  words  contain  the  history  of  the 
universe,  the  history  of  all  worlds,  all  that  is,  all!  Why 
is  it  not  intoxicating  to  kill? 

June  25.  To  think  that  there  is  a  being  who 
lives,  who  walks,  who  runs.  A  being  ?  What  is  a 
being  ?  An  animated  thing  which  bears  in  it  the 
principle  ©f  motion,  and  a  will  ruling  that  principle. 
It  clings  to  nothing,  this  thing.  Its  feet  are  independ- 
ent of  the  ground.  It  is  a  grain  of  life  that  moves 
on  the  earth,  and  this  grain  of  life,  coming  I  know  not 
whence,  one  can  destroy  at  one's  will.  Then  nothing 
—  nothing  more.     It  perishes;  it  is  finished. 

June  26.  Why,  then,  is  it  a  crime  to  kill  ?  Yes, 
why?  On  the  contrary,  it  is  the  law  of  nature. 
Every  being  has  the  mission  to  kill;  he  kills  to  live, 
and  he  lives  to  kill.  The  beast  kills  without  ceasing, 
all  day,  every  instant  of  its  existence.  Man  kills 
without  ceasing,  to  nourish  himself;  but  since  in 
addition  he  needs  to  kill  for  pleasure,  he  has  invented 
the  chase!  The  child  kills  the  insects  he  finds,  the 
little  birds,  all  the  little  animals  that  come  in  his 
way.  But  this  docs  not  suffice  for  the  irresistible 
need  of  massacre  that  is  in  us.     It   is   not  enough  to 


295  THE   DIARY   OF   A   MADMAN 

kill  beasts;  we  must  kill  man  too.  Long  ago  this 
need  was  satisfied  by  human  sacrifice.  Now,  the 
necessity  of  living  in  society  has  made  murder  a 
crime.  We  condemn  and  punish  the  assassin!  But 
as  we  cannot  live  without  yielding  to  this  natural  and 
imperious  instinct  of  death,  we  relieve  ourselves,  from 
time  to  time,  by  wars.  Then  a  whole  nation  slaugh- 
ters another  nation.  It  is  a  feast  of  blood,  a  feast 
that  maddens  armies  and  intoxicates  the  civilians, 
women  and  children,  who  read,  by  lamplight  at 
night,  the  feverish  story  of  massacre. 

And  do  we  despise  those  picked  out  to  accomplish 
these  butcheries  of  men?  No,  they  are  loaded  with 
honors.  They  are  clad  in  gold  and  in  resplendent 
stuffs;  they  wear  plumes  on  their  heads  and  orna- 
ments on  their  breasts;  and  they  are  given  crosses, 
rewards,  titles  of  every  kind.  They  are  proud,  re- 
spected, loved  by  women,  cheered  by  the  crowd, 
solely  because  their  mission  is  to  shed  human  blood! 
They  drag  through  the  streets  their  instruments  of 
death,  and  the  passer-by,  clad  in  black,  looks  on 
with  envy.  For  to  kill  is  the  great  law  put  by  nature 
in  the  heart  of  existence!  There  is  nothing  more 
beautiful   and   honorable   than   killing! 

June  30.  To  kill  is  the  law,  because  Nature  loves 
eternal  youth.  She  seems  to  cry  in  all  her  uncon- 
scious acts:  "Quick!  quick!  quick!"  The  more  she 
destroys;  the   more  she   renews   herself. 

July  3.  It  must  be  a  pleasure,  unique  and  full  of 
zest,  to  kill:  to  place  before  you  a  hving,  thinking 
being;  to  make  therein  a  little  hole,  nothing  but  a 
little  hole,,  and  to  see  that  red  liquid  flow  which  is 
the  blood,  which  is  the  life;  and  then  to  have  before 


WORKS   OF   GUY    DE    MAUPASSANT  297 

you   only   a   heap   of  limp   flesh,  cold,  inert,  void  of 
thought! 

August  5.     1,  who   have   passed   my  life   in   judg- 
ing, condemning,  killmg   by  words   pronounced,  kill 
ing   by   the    guillotine    those  who    had   killed    by  the 
knife,  if  1  should  do  as  all  the  assassins  v^'hom  I  have 
smitten  have  done,  1,  1— who  would  know  itr' 

August  10.  Who  would  ever  know?  Who  would 
ever  suspect  me,  especially  if  1  should  choose  a  being 
I  had  no  interest  in  doing  av/ay  with? 

August  22.  I  could  resist  no  longer,  i  have  killed 
a  little  creature  as  an  experiment,  as  a  beginning. 
Jean,  my  servant,  had  a  goldfinch  in  a  cage  hung  in 
the  office  window.  1  sent  him  on  an  errand,  and  I 
took  the  little  bird  in  my  hand,  in  my  hand  where 
I  felt  its  heart  beat.  It  was  warm.  I  went  up  to  my 
room.  From  time  to  time  I  squeezed  it  tighter;  its 
heart  beat  faster;  it  was  atrocious  and  delicious.  1 
was  nearly  choking  it.     But  1  could  not  see  the  blood. 

Then  I  took  scissors,  short  nail  scissors,  and  1  cut 
its  throat  in  three  strokes,  quite  gently.  It  opened 
its  bill,  it  struggled  to  escape  me,  but  I  held  it,  ohl 
I  held  it  —  1  could  have  held  a  mad  dog  —  and  1  saw 
the  blood  trickle. 

And  then  I  did  as  assassins  do  —  real  ones.  I 
washed  the  scissors  and  washed  my  hands.  1  sprinkled 
water,  and  took  the  body,  the  corpse,  to  the  garden 
to  hide  it.  1  buried  it  under  a  strawberry-plant.  It 
will  never  be  found.  Every  day  I  can  eat  a  straw- 
berry from  that  plant.  How  one  can  enjoy  life,  when 
one  knows  howl 

My  servant  cried;  he  thought  his  bird  flown.  How 
could  he  suspect  me?    Ah  I 


298  THE   DIARY   OF   A   MADMAN 

August  25.     I  must  kill  a  man!     1  must  I 

August  30.  It  is  done.  But  what  a  little  thing! 
J  had  gone  for  a  walk  in  the  forest  of  Vernes.  I  was 
thinking  of  nothing,  literally  nothing.  See!  a  child 
on  the  road,  a  little  child  eating  a  slice  of  bread  and 
butter.  He  stops  to  see  me  pass  and  says,  "Good 
day,  Mr.  President." 

And  the  thought  enters  my  head:  "Shall  1  kill 
him?" 

I  answer:  "You  are  alone,  my  boy?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"All  alone  in  the  wood?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

The  wish  to  kill  him  intoxicated  me  like  wine.  I 
approached  him  quite  softly,  persuaded  that  he  was 
going  to  run  away.  And  suddenly  1  seized  him  by 
the  throat.  He  held  my  wrists  in  his  little  hands, 
and  his  body  writhed  like  a  feather  on  the  fire. 
Then  he  moved  no  more.  I  threw  the  body  in  the 
ditch,  then  some  weeds  on  top  of  it.  I  returned 
home  and  dined  well.  What  a  little  thing  it  was! 
In  the  evening  I  was  very  gay,  light,  rejuvenated, 
and  passed  the  evening  at  the  Prefect's.  They  found 
me  witty.  But  I  have  not  seen  blood!  I  am  not 
tranquil. 

August  31.  The  body  has  been  discovered.  They 
are  hunting  for  the  assassin.    Ah! 

September  i.  Two  tramps  have  been  arrested^ 
Proofs  are  lacking. 

September  2.  The  parents  have  been  to  see  me. 
They  wept!     Ah! 

October  6.  Nothing  has  been  discovered.  Some 
strolling   vagabond   must    have    done   the    deed.     Ah  I 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT  299 

If  I  had  seen  the   blood  flow  it  seems  to  me  I  should 
be  tranquil  now! 

October  10.  Yet  another.  I  was  wall<ing  by  the 
river,  after  breakfast.  And  I  saw,  under  a  willow,  a 
fisherman  asleep,  it  was  noon.  A  spade,  as  if  ex- 
pressly put  there  for  me,  was  standing  in  a  potato- 
field  near  by. 

I  took  it.  I  returned;  I  raised  it  like  a  club,  and 
with  one  blow  of  the  edge  i  cleft  the  fisherman's 
head.  Oh!  he  bled,  this  one!  —  rose-colored  blood. 
It  flowed  into  the  water  quite  gently.  And  I  went 
away  with  a  grave  step,  if  I  had  been  seen!  Ah! 
I  should  have  made  an  excellent  assassin. 

October  25.  The  affair  of  the  fisherman  makes  a 
great  noise.  His  nephew,  who  fished  with  him,  is 
charQ:ed  with  the  murder. 

October  26.  The  examining  magistrate  affirms 
that  the  nephew  is  guilty.  Everybody  in  town  be- 
lieves it.     Ah!  ah! 

October  27.  The  nephew  defends  himself  badly. 
He  had  gone  to  the  village  to  buy  bread  and  cheese, 
he  declares.  He  swears  that  his  uncle  had  been 
killed  in  his  absence!     Who  would  believe  him  r 

October  2^.  The  nephew  has  all  but  confessed, 
so  much  have  they  made  him  lose  his  head!  Ah! 
Justice! 

November  15.  There  are  overwhelmmg  proofs 
against  the  nephew,  who  was  his  uncle's  heir.  \ 
shall  preside  at  the  sessions. 

fa'duary  25,  1832.  To  death!  to  death!  to  death!  I 
have  had  him  condemned  to  death!  The  advocate- 
general  spoke  like  an  angel!  Ah  I  Yet  another!  I 
shall  go  to  see  him  executed  I 


jOO  THE  DIARY  OF  A   MADMAN 

March  lo.  It  is  done.  They  guillotined  him  this 
morning.  He  died  very  well!  very  well!  That  gave 
me  pleasure!  How  fine  it  is  to  see  a  man's  head 
cut  oflf! 

Now,  I  shall  wait,  I  can  wait.  It  would  take  such 
a  little  thing  to  let  myself  be  caught. 

1*  I*  "i*  sj*  m^  ic  ^ 

The  manuscript  contained  more  pages,  but  told  of 
no  new  crime. 

Alienist  physicians  to  whom  the  awful  story  has 
been  submitted  declare  that  there  are  in  the  world 
many  unknown  madmen;  as  adroit  and  as  terrible  as 
this  monstrous  lunatic. 


AN 
UNFORTUNATE    LIKENESS 


T  WAS   during   one    of  those    sudden 
changes  of  the  electric   light,  which 
at    one    time    throw^s   rays    of   ex- 
quisite  pale  pink,  of  a   liquid   gold 
.  ,^       filtered  through   the   light   hair  of  a 
]r^^    w^oman,  and  at  another,  rays  of  bluish 
11 '    hue  with  strange  tints,  such  as  the  sky 
assumes  at  twilight,  in  v/hich  the  women 
with  their  bare  shoulders  looked  like  liv- 
ing flowers  —  it  was,  1  say,  on  the  night  of 
the   first    of   January   at    Montonirail's,    the 
dainty  painter   of  tail,  undulating    figures,  of 
bright   dresses,  of  Parisian  prettiness — that  tall 
Pcscarelle,  whom   some    called   "Pussy,"  though 
I  do  not  know  why,  suddenly  said  in  a  low  voice: 

"Well,  people  were  not  altogether  mistaken,  in 
fact,  were  only  half  wrong  when  they  coupled  my 
name  with  that  of  pretty  Lucy  Plonelle.  She  had 
caught  me,  just  as  a  birdcatcher  on  a  frosty  morning 
catches  an  imprudent  wren  on  a  limed  twig  —  in  fact, 
she  might  have  done  whatever  she  liked  with  me. 

(301) 


302 


WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


"1  was  under  the  charm  of  her  enigmatical  and 
mocking  smile,  that  smile  in  which  her  teeth  gleamed 
cruelly  between  her  red  lips,  and  glistened  as  if  they 
were  ready  to  bite  and  to  heighten  the  pleasure  of 
the  most  delightful,  the  most  voluptuous,  kiss  by  pain. 

"I  loved  everything  in  her  —  her  feline  suppleness, 
her  languid  looks  which  emerged  from  her  half- 
closed  lids,  full  of  promises  and  temptation,  her  some- 
what extreme  elegance,  and  her  hands,  those  long, 
delicate  white  hands,  with  blue  veins,  like  the  blood- 
less hands  of  a  female  saint  in  a  stained  glass  window, 
and  her  slender  fingers,  on  which  only  the  large  blood- 
drop  of  a  ruby  glittered. 

"I  would  have  given  her  all  my  remaining  youth 
and  vigor  to  have  laid  my  burning  hands  upon  the 
back  of  her  cool,  round  neck,  and  to  feel  that  bright, 
silk,  golden  mane  enveloping  me  and  caressing  my 
skin.  1  was  never  tired  of  hearing  her  disdainful, 
petulant  voice,  those  vibrations  which  sounded  as  if 
they  proceeded  from  clear  glass,  whose  music,  at 
times,  became  hoarse,  harsh,  and  fierce,  like  the  loud, 
sonorous  calls  of  the  Valkyries. 

"Good  heavens!  to  be  her  lover,  to  be  her  chat- 
tel, to  belong  to  her,  to  devote  one's  whole  existence 
to  her,  to  spend  one's  last  half-penny  and  to  sink  in 
misery,  only  to  have  the  glory  and  the  happiness  of 
possessing  her  splendid  beauty,  the  sweetness  of  her 
kisses,  the  pink  and  the  white  of  her  demonlike  soul 
all  to  myself,  if  only  for  a  few  months! 

"It  makes  you  laugh,  1  know,  to  think  that  I 
should  have  been  caught  like  that  —  I  who  give  such 
good,  prudent  advice  to  my  friends  —  1  who  fear  love 
as  I  do  those  quicksands  and  shoals  which  appear  at 


AN    UNFORTUNATE   LIKENESS  303 

low  tide  and  in  which  one  may  be  swallowed  up  and 
disappear! 

"But  who  can  answer  for  himself,  who  can  de- 
fend himself  agamst  such  a  danger,  as  the  magnetic 
attraction  that  inheres  in  such  a  woman  ?  Neverthe- 
less, 1  got  cured  and  perfectly  cured,  and  that  quite 
accidentally.  This  is  how  the  enchantment,  which 
was  apparently  so  infrangible,  was  broken. 

"On  the  first  night  of  a  play,  I  was  sitting  in  the 
stalls  close  to  Lucy,  whose  mother  had  accompanied 
her,  as  usual.  They  occupied  the  front  of  a  box,  side 
by  side.  From  some  unsurmountable  attraction,  I 
never  ceased  looking  at  the  woman  whom  1  loved 
with  all  the  force  of  my  being.  I  feasted  my  eyes 
on  her  beauty,  I  saw  nobody  except  her  in  the 
theater,  and  did  not  listen  to  the  piece  that  was  being 
performed  on  the  stage. 

"Suddenly,  however,  I  felt  as  if  1  had  received  a 
blow  from  a  dagger  in  my  heart,  and  I  had  an  in- 
sane hallucination.  Lucy  had  moved,  and  her  pretty 
head  was  in  profile,  in  the  same  attitude  and  with 
the  same  lines  as  her  mother.  I  do  not  know  what 
shadow  or  what  play  of  light  had  hardened  and 
altered  the  color  of  her  delicate  features,  effacing  their 
ideal  prettiness,  but  the  more  I  looked  at  them  both, 
at  the  one  who  was  young  and  the  one  who  was 
old,   the  greater  the   distressing  resemblance  became. 

"I  saw  Lucy  growing  older  and  older,  striving 
against  those  accumulating  years  which  bring  wrinkles 
in  the  face,  produce  a  double  chin  and  crow's-feet, 
and  spoil  the  mouth.      They  almost  looked  like  twins. 

"I  suffered  so,  that  I  thought  I  should  go  mad. 
Yet    in   spite   of  myself,    instead   of  shaking   off   this 


504  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

feeling  and  making  my  escape  out  of  the  theater,  far 
away  into  the  noise  and  life  of  the  boulevards,  I  per- 
sisted in  looking  at  the  other,  at  the  old  one,  in  ex- 
amining her,  in  judging  her,  in  dissecting  her  with 
my  eyes.  I  got  excited  over  her  flabby  cheeks,  over 
those  ridiculous  dimples,  that  were  half  filled  up,  over 
that  treble  chin,  that  dyed  hair,  those  lusterless  eyes, 
and  that  nose,  which  was  a  caricature  of  Lucy's 
beautiful,  attractive  little  nose. 

"1  had  a  prescience  of  the  future.  I  loved  her, 
and  1  should  love  her  more  and  more  every  day,  that 
little  sorceress  who  had  so  despotically  and  so  quickly 
conquered  me.  I  should  not  allow  any  participation 
or  any  intrigue  from  the  day  she  gave  herself  to  me, 
and  once  intimately  connected,  who  could  tell 
whether,  just  as  I  was  defending  myself  against  it 
most,  the  legitimate  termination  —  marriage  —  might 
not  come? 

"Why  not  give  one's  name  to  a  woman  whom 
one  loves,  and  whom  one  trusts.?  The  reason  was 
that  1  should  be  tied  to  a  disfigured,  ugly  creature, 
with  whom  I  should  not  venture  to  be  seen  in  public. 
My  friends  would  leer  at  her  with  laughter  in  their 
eyes,  and  with  pity  in  their  hearts  for  the  man  who 
was  accompanying  those  remains. 

"And  so,  as  soon  as  the  curtain  had  fallen,  with- 
out saying  good  day  or  good  evening,  I  had  myself 
driven  to  the  Moulin  Rouge. 


"Well,"  Florise  d'Anglet  exclaimed,  "I  shall  never 
take  mamma  to  the  theater  with  me  again,  for  the 
men  are  really  going  crazy  1" 


A    COUNTRY    EXCURSION 


"^OR  five  months  they  had  been  talk- 
i*H     ing    of  going   to  lunch   at   some 
country  restaurant    in    the    neigh- 
borhood  of  Paris,  on    Madame  Du- 
four's    birthday,    and    as    they  were 
looking  forward   very   impatiently  to 
the   outing,  they  had   risen  very  early 
that    morning.      Monsieur    Dufour  had 
borrowed  the    milkman's  tilted  cart,  and 
drove  himself.     It  was   a  very  neat,  two- 
wheeled  conveyance,  with  a   hood,  and  in 
it    Madame    Dufour,    resplendent   in   a   won- 
derful,   sherry-colored    silk   dress,  sat    by   the 
side  of  her  husband. 
The    old   grandmother   and   the  daughter  were  ac- 
commodated  with    two   chairs,    and    a   yellow-haired 
youth,    of  whom,  however,  nothing  was    to  be   seen 
except  his  head,  lay  at  the  bottom  of  the  trap. 

When  they  got  to  the  bridge  of  Neuilly,  Monsieur 
Dufour  said:  "Here  we  are  in  the  country  at  last!" 
At  that  warning,  his  wife  grew  sentimental  about  the 
beauties  of  nature.     When  they  got  to  the  crossroads 

Maup.  1—20  (305) 


306  WORKS  OF  GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

at  Courbevoie,  they  were  seized  with  admiration  for 
the  tremendous  view  down  there:  on  the  right  was 
the  spire  of  Argenteuil  church,  above  it  rose  the  hills 
of  Sannois  and  the  mill  of  Orgemont,  v/hile  on  the 
left,  the  aqueduct  of  Marly  stood  out  against  the  clear 
morning  sky.  In  the  distance  the}/  could  see  the  ter- 
race of  Saint-Germain,  and  opposite  to  them,  at  the 
end  of  a  low  chain  of  hills,  the  nev/  fort  of  Cor- 
meilles.  Af^ir  —  a  very  long  way  off,  beyond  the  plains 
and  villages  —  one  could  see  the  somber  green  of  the 
forests. 

The  sun  was  beginning  to  shine  in  their  faces,  the 
dust  got  into  their  eyes,  and  on  either  side  of  the 
road  there  stretched  an  interminable  tract  of  bare, 
ugly  country,  which  smelled  unpleasantly.  You  would 
have  thought  that  it  had  been  ravaged  by  a  pestilence 
which  had  even  attacked  the  buildings,  for  skeletons 
of  dilapidated  and  deserted  houses,  or  small  cottages 
left  in  an  unfinished  state,  as  if  the  contractors  had 
not  been  paid,  reared  their  four  roofless  walls  on  each 
side. 

Here  and  there  tall  factory-chimneys  rose  up  from 
the  barren  soil,  the  only  vegetation  on  that  putrid 
land,  where  the  spring  breezes  wafted  an  odor  of 
petroleum  and  soot,  mingled  with  another  smell  that 
was  even  still  less  agreeable.  At  last,  however,  they 
crossed  the  Seine  a  second  time.  It  was  delightful 
on  the  bridge;  the  river  sparkled  in  the  sun,  and  they 
had  a  feeling  of  quiet  satisfaction  and  enjoyment  in 
drinking  in  purer  air,  not  impregnated  by  the  black 
smoke  of  factories,  nor  by  the  miasma  from  the  de- 
posits of  night-soil.  A  man  whom  they  met  told 
them  that  the  name  of  the  place  was  Bezons;  so  Mon- 


A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION  3C7 

sieur  Dufour  pulled  up,  and  read  the  attractive  an- 
nouncement outside  an  eating-house: 

"Restaurant  Poulin,  stews  and  fried  fish,  private 
rooms,  arbors,  and  swings." 

"Well!  Madame  Dufour,  will  this  suit  you?  Will 
you  make  up  your  mind  at  last?" 

She  read  the  announcement  in  her  turn,  and  then 
looked  at  the  house  for  a  time. 

It  was  a  white  country  inn,  built  by  the  road- 
side, and  through  the  open  door  she  could  see  the 
bright  zinc  cf  the  counter,  at  which  two  workmen  out 
for  the  day  were  sitting.  At  last  she  made  up  her 
mind,  and  said: 

"Yes,  this  will  do;  and,  besides,  there  is  a  view." 

So  they  drove  into  a  large  yard  studded  with 
trees,  behind  the  inn,  which  was  only  separated  from 
the  river  by  the  towing-path,  and  got  out.  The  hus- 
band sprang  out  first,  and  held  out  his  arms  for  his 
wife.  As  the  step  was  very  high,  Madame  Dufour, 
in  order  to  reach  him,  had  to  show  the  lower  part 
of  her  limbs,  whose  former  slenderness  had  disap- 
peared in  fat.  Monsieur  Dufour,  who  was  already 
getting  excited  by  the  country  air,  pinched  her  calf, 
and  then,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  set  her  on  to  the 
ground,  as  if  she  had  been  some  enormous  bundle.  She 
shook  the  dust  out  cf  the  silk  dress,  and  then  looked 
round,  to  see  in  what  sort  of  a  place  she  was. 

She  was  a  stout  woman,  of  about  thirty-six,  full- 
blown and  delightful  to  lc;uk  at.  She  could  hardly 
breathe,  as  she  was  laced  too  tightly,  which  forced  the 
heaving  mass  of  her  superabundant  bosom  up  to  her 
double  chin.  Next,  the  girl  put  her  hand  on  to  her 
father's  shoulder,  and  jumped  lightly  down.    The  youth 


308  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

with  the  yellow  hair  had  got  down  by  stepping  on 
the  wheel,  and  he  helped  Monsieur  Dufour  to  get  the 
grandmother  out.  Then  they  unharnessed  the  horse, 
which  they  tied  up  to  a  tree,  and  the  carriage  fell 
back,  with  both  shafts  in  the  air.  The  man  and  boy 
took  off  their  coats,  washed  their  hands  in  a  pail  of 
water,  and  then  joined  the  ladies,  who  had  already 
taken  possession  of  the  swings. 

Mademoiselle  Dufour  was  trying  to  swing  herself 
standing  up,  but  she  could  not  succeed  in  getting  a 
start.  She  was  a  pretty  girl  of  about  eighteen;  one 
of  those  women  who  suddenly  excite  your  desire 
when  you  meet  them  in  the  street,  and  who  leave 
you  with  a  vague  feeling  of  uneasiness  and  of  ex- 
cited senses.  She  was  tall,  had  a  small  waist  and 
large  hips,  with  a  dark  skin,  very  large  eyes,  and 
very  black  hair.  Her  dress  clearly  marked  the  out- 
lines of  her  firm,  full  figure,  which  was  accentuated 
by  the  motion  of  her  hips  as  she  tried  to  swing  her- 
self higher.  Her  arms  were  stretched  over  her  head 
to  hold  the  rope,  so  that  her  bosom  rose  at  every 
movement  she  made.  Her  hat,  which  a  gust  of  wind 
had  blown  off,  was  hanging  behind  her,  and  as  the 
swing  gradually  rose  higher  and  higher,  she  showed 
her  delicate  limbs  up  to  the  knees  each  time,  and  the 
wind  from  the  perfumed  petticoats,  more  heady  than 
the  fumes  of  wine,  blew  into  the  faces  of  her  father 
and  friend,  who  were   looking   at    her  in  admiration. 

Sitting  in  the  other  swing,  Madame  Dufour  kept 
saying  in  a  monotonous  voice: 

"Cypriiln,  come  and  swing  me;  do  come  and  swing 
me,  Cyprian!" 

At  last  he  complied,  and  turning  up  his  shirt-sleeves, 


A   COUNTRY    EXCURSION  309 

as  if  be  intended  to  work  very  hard,  with  much  diffi- 
culty he  set  his  wife  in  motion.  She  clutched  the 
two  ropes,  and  held  her  legs  out  straight,  so  as  not 
to  touch  f!ie  ground.  She  enjoyed  feeling  giddy  from 
the  motion  of  the  swing,  and  her  whole  figure  shook 
like  a  jelly  on  a  dish,  but  as  she  went  higher  and 
higher,  she  grew  too  giddy  and  got  frightened.  Every 
time  she  was  coming  back,  she  uttered  a  shriek, 
which  made  all  the  little  urchins  come  round,  and, 
down  below,  beneath  the  garden  hedge,  she  vaguely 
saw  a  row  of  mischievous  heads,  making  various 
grimaces  as  they  laughed. 

When  a  servant  girl  came  out,  they  ordered  lunch. 

"Some  fried  fish,  a  stewed  rabbit,  salad,  and  des- 
sert," Madame  Dufour  said,  with  an  important  air. 

"Bring  two  quarts  of  beer  and  a  bottle  of  claret," 
her  husband  said. 

"We  will  have  lunch  on  the  grass,"  the  girl  added. 

The  grandmother,  who  had  an  affection  for  cats, 
bad  been  petting  one  that  belonged  to  the  house, 
and  had  been  bestowing  the  most  affectionate  words 
on  it,  for  the  last  tfen  minutes.  The  animal,  no  doubt 
secretly  pleased  by  her  attentions,  kept  close  to  the 
^ood  woman,  but  just  out  of  reach  of  her  hand,  and 
quietly  walked  round  the  trees,  against  which  she 
rubbed  herself,  with  her  tail  up,  purring  with  pleasure. 

"Hallo!"  exclaimed  the  youth  with  the  yellow 
hair,  who  was  ferreting  about,  "here  are  two  swell 
boats!"  They  all  went  to  look  at  them,  and  saw  two 
beautiful  skiffs  in  a  wooden  boathouse,  which  were 
as  beautifully  finished  as  if  they  had  been  objects  of 
luxury.  They  were  moored  side  by  side,  like  two 
tall,  slender  girls,  in  their   narrow  shining  length,  and 


5IO  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

aroused  in  one  a  wish  to  float  in  them  on  warm 
summer  mornings  and  evenings,  along  flower-covered 
banks  of  the  river,  where  the  trees  dip  their  branches 
into  the  water,  where  the  rushes  are  continually  rus- 
tling in  the  breeze,  and  where  the  swift  kingfishers 
dart  about  like  flashes  of  blue  lightning. 

The  whole  family  looked  at  them  with  great  re- 
spect. 

"They  are  indeed  two  swell  boats,"  Monsieur  Du- 
four  repeated  gravely,  and  he  examined  them  closely, 
commenting  on  them  like  a  connoisseur.  He  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  rov.'ing  in  his  younger  days,  he 
said,  and  when  he  had  that  in  his  hands — and  he 
went  through  the  action  of  pulling  the  oars  —  he  did 
not  care  a  fig  for  anybody.  He  had  beaten  more  than 
one  Englishman  formerly  at  the  Joinville  regattas.  He 
grew  quite  excited  at  last,  and  offered  to  make  a  bet 
that  in  a  boat  like  that  he  could  row  six  miles  an 
hour,  without  exerting  himself 

"Lunch  is  ready,"  said  the  waitress,  appearing  at 
the  entrance  to  the  boathouse.  They  all  hurried  off, 
but  two  young  men  were  already  lunching  at  the  best 
place,  which  Madame  Dufour  had  chosen  in  her  mind 
as  her  seat.  No  doubt  they  were  the  owners  of  the 
skiffs,  for  they  were  dressed  in  boating  costume. 
They  were  stretched  out,  almost  lying  on  chairs,  and 
were  sunburned,  and  had  on  flannel  trousers  and  thin 
cotton  jerseys,  with  short  sleeves,  which  showed  their 
bare  arms,  which  were  as  strong  as  blacksmiths'. 
They  were  two  strong  young  fellows,  who  thought  a 
great  deal  of  their  vigor,  and  who  showed  in  all  their 
movements  that  elasticity  and  grace  of  limb  which 
can    only    be    acquired   by   exercise,  and  which  is  so 


A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION 


311 


different  to  the  awkwardness  with  which  the  same 
continual  work  stamps  the  mechanic. 

Tliey  exchanged  a  rapid  smile  when  they  saw  the 
mother,  and  then  a  look  on  seeing  the  daughter. 

"  l.ct  us  give  up  our  place,"  one  of  them  said;  "it 
v/ill  make  us  acquainted  with  them." 

The  other  got  up  immediately,  and  holding  his 
black  and  red  boating-cap  in  his  hand,  he  politely 
offered  the  ladies  the  only  shady  place  in  the  garden. 
With  many  excuses  they  accepted,  and  so  that  it 
might  be  more  rural,  they  sat  on  the  grass,  without 
either  tables  or  chairs. 

The  two  young  men  took  their  plates,  knives, 
forks,  etc.,  to  a  table  a  little  way  off,  and  began  to 
eat  again.  Their  bare  arms,  which  they  showed  con- 
tinually, rather  embarrassed  the  young  girl,  who  even 
pretended  to  turn  her  head  aside,  and  not  to  see 
them.  But  Madame  Dufour,  who  was  rather  bolder, 
tempted  by  feminine  curiosity,  looked  at  them  every 
moment,  and  no  doubt  compared  them  with  the  secret 
unsightliness  of  her  husband.  She  had  squatted  her- 
self on  the  ground  with  her  legs  tucked  under  her, 
after  the  manner  of  tailors,  and  kept  wriggling  about 
continually,  under  the  pretext  that  ants  were  crawling 
about  her  somewhere.  Monsieur  Dufour,  whom  the 
politeness  of  the  strangers  had  put  into  rather  a  bad 
temper,  was  trying  to  find  a  comfortable  position, 
which  he  did  not,  however,  succeed  in  doing,  while 
the  youth  with  the  yellow  hair  was  eating  as  silently 
as  an  ogre. 

"It  is  lovely  weather.  Monsieur,"  the  stout  lady 
said  to  one  of  the  boating-uK-n.  She  wished  to  be 
friendly,  because  they  had  given  up  their  place. 


2(2  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 

"It  is,  indeed,  Madame,"  he  replied;  "do  you 
often  go  into  tlie  country?" 

"Oh!  Only  once  or  twice  a  year,  to  get  a  little 
fresh  air;  and  you.  Monsieur?" 

"I  come  and  sleep  here  every  night." 

"Oh!     That  must  be  very  nice?" 

"Certainly  it  is,  Madame."  And  he  gave  them 
such  a  practical  account  of  his  daily  life,  that  in  the 
hearts  of  these  shopkeepers,  who  were  deprived  of 
the  meadows,  and  who  longed  for  country  walks, 
it  roused  that  innate  love  of  nature,  which  they  all 
felt  so  strongly  the  whole  year  round,  behind  the 
counter  in  their  shop. 

The  girl  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the  oarS' 
man  with  emotion,  and  Monsieur  Dufour  spoke  foi 
the  first  time. 

"It  is  indeed  a  happy  life,"  he  said.  And  then 
he  added:    "A  little  more  rabbit,  my  dear?" 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  replied,  and  turning  to  tlie 
young  men  again,  and  pointing  to  their  arms,  asked' 
"Do  you  never  feel  cold  like  that?" 

They  both  laughed,  and  amazed  the  'family  by 
telling  of  the  enormous  fatigue  they  could  endure,  ot 
bathing  while  in  a  state  of  tremendous  perspiration, 
of  rowing  in  the  fog  at  night,  and  they  struck  theit 
chests  violently,  to  show  how  they  sounded. 

"Ah!  You  look  very  strong,"  the  husband  saia, 
and  he  did  not  talk  any  more  of  the  time  when  he 
used  to  beat  the  English.  The  girl  was  looking  at 
them  askance  now,  and  the  young  fellow  with  the 
yellow  hair,  as  he  had  swallowed  some  wine  the 
wrong  way,  and  was  coughing  violently,  bespattered 
Madame  Dufour's  sherry-colored  silk  dress.     Madame 


A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION  31^ 

got    angry,    and    sent    for    some   water    to   wash    the 
spots. 

Meanwhile  it  had  grown  unbearably  hot,  the 
sparkling  river  looked  Hke  a  blaze  of  fire  and  the 
fumes  of  the  wine  were  getting  into  their  heads. 
Monsieur  Dufour,  who  had  a  violent  hiccough,  had 
unbuttoned  his  waistcoat  and  the  top  of  his  trousers, 
while  his  wife,  who  felt  choking,  was  gradually  un- 
fastening her  dress.  The  youth  was  shaking  his  yel- 
low wig  in  a  happy  frame  of  mind,  and  kept  helping 
himself  to  wine,  and  as  the  old  grandmother  felt 
drunk,  she  endeavored  to  be  very  stiff  and  dignified. 
As  for  the  girl,  she  showed  nothing  except  a  pecu- 
liar brightness  in  her  eyes,  while  the  brown  skin  on 
the  cheeks   became   more   rosy. 

The  coffee  finished  them  off;  they  spoke  of  sing- 
ing, and  each  of  them  sang,  or  repeated  a  couplet, 
which  the  others  repeated  enthusiastically.  Then  they 
got  up  with  some  difficulty,  and  while  the  two  w^omen, 
who  were  rather  dizzy,  were  getting  some  fresh  air, 
the  two  males,  who  were  altogether  drunk,  were  per- 
forming gymnastic  tricks.  Heavy,  linip,  and  with  scar- 
let faces,  they  hung  awkwardly  on  to  the  iron  rings, 
without  being  able  to  raise  themselves,  while  their 
shirts  were  continually  threatening  to  part  company 
with  their  trousers,  and  to  flap  in  the  wind  like  flags. 

Meanwhile,  the  two  boating-men  had  got  their 
skiffs  into  the  water.  They  came  back,  and  politely 
asked  the  ladies  whether  they  would  like  a  row. 

"Would  you  like  one,  Monsieur  Dufour?"  his 
wife   exclaimed.     "Please   come!" 

He  merely  gave  her  a  drunken  look,  without  un- 
derstanding what  she   said.     Then  one  of  the  rowers 


314 


WORKS   OF  GUY   DE   MAUPASSANT 


came  up,  with  two  fishing-rods  in  his  hand;  and 
the  hope  of  catching  a  gudgeon,  that  great  aim  of 
the  Parisian  shopkeeper,  made  Dufour's  dull  eyes 
gleam.  He  politely  allowed  them  to  do  whatever 
they  liked,  while  he  sat  in  the  shade,  under  the 
bridge,  with  his  feet  dangling  over  the  river,  by  the 
side  of  the  young  man  with  the  yellow  hair,  who 
was  sleeping  soundly  close  to  him. 

One  of  the  boating-men  made  a  martyr  of  him- 
self, and   took   the   mother. 

"Let  us  go  to  the  little  wood  on  the  lie  aux  An- 
glais!" he  called  out,  as  he  rowed  off.  The  other 
skiff  went  slower,  for  the  rower  was  looking  at  his 
companion  so  intently,  that  he  thought  of  nothing 
else.  His  emotion  paralyzed  his  strength,  while  the 
girl,  who  was  sitting  on  the  steerer's  seat,  gave  her- 
self up  to  the  enjoyment  of  being  on  the  water.  She 
felt  disinclined  to  think,  felt  a  lassitude  in  her  limbs^ 
a  complete  self-relaxation,  as  if  she  were  intoxicated. 
She  had  become  very  flushed,  and  breathed  pantingly. 
The  effect  of  the  wine,  increased  by  the  extreme 
heat,  made  all  the  trees  on  the  bank  seem  to  bow, 
as  she  passed.  A  vague  wish  for  enjoyment,  a  fer- 
mentation of  her  blood,  seemed  to  pervade  her  whole 
body,  and  she  was  also  a  little  agitated  by  this  Ute- 
d-tcte  on  the  water,  in  a  place  which  seemed  depopu= 
lated  by  the  heat,  with  this  young  man,  who  thought 
her  so  pretty,  whose  looks  seemed  to  caress  her 
skin,  and  whose  eyes  were  as  penetrating  and  excit- 
ing as  the  sun's  rays. 

Their  inability  to  speak  increased  their  emotion, 
and  they  looked  about  them  At  last  he  made  an 
effort  and  asked  her  name. 


A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION  ^15 

"Henriette,"  she  said. 

"Why!  My  name  is  Henri,"  he  replied.  The 
sound  of  their  voices  calmed  them,  and  they  looked 
at  the  banks.  The  other  skiff  had  gone  ahead  of 
them,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  them.  The  rower 
called  out: 

"We  will  meet  you  in  the  wood;  we  are  going 
as  far  as  Robinson's,*  because  Madame  Dufour  is 
thirs-ty."  Then  he  bent  over  his  oars  again  and 
rowed  off  so  quickly   that  he  was   soon  out  of  sight. 

Meanwhile,  a  continual  roar,  which  they  had 
heard  for  some  time,  came  nearer,  and  the  river  itself 
seemed  to  shiver,  as  if  the  dull  noise  were  rising 
from  its  depths. 

"What  is  that  noise?"  she  asked.  It  was  the 
noise  of  the  weir,  which  cut  the  river  in  two,  at  the 
island.  He  was  explaining  it  to  her,  when  above  the 
noise  of  the  waterfall  they  heard  the  song  of  a  bird, 
which  seemed  a  long  way  off. 

"Listen!"  he  said;  "the  nightingales  are  singing 
during  the  day,  so  the  females  must  be  sitting." 

A  nightingale!  She  had  never  heard  one  before, 
and  the  idea  of  listening  to  one  roused  visions  cf 
poetic  tenderness  in  her  heart.  A  nightingale!  That 
is  to  say,  the  invisible  witness  of  the  lover's  inter- 
view which  Juliette  invoked  on  her  balcony  f;  that 
celestial  music  which  is  attuned  to  human  kisses; 
thcit  eternal  inspirer  of  all  those  languorous  romances 
which  open  idealized  visions  to  the  poor,  tender,  little 
hearts  of  sensitive  girls! 

*  A  well-known  restaurant  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  much  fre- 
quented by  the  bourgeoisie. 

t"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  Act  ill.,  Scene  V. 


^i6  WORKS   OF   GUY    DE   MAUPASSANT 

She  wanted  to  hear  a  nightingak. 

"We  must  not  make  a  noise,"  her  companion 
said,  "and  then  we  can  go  into  the  wood,  and  sit 
down  close  to  it." 

The  skiff  seemed  to  glide.  They  saw  the  trees 
on  the  island,  the  banks  of  which  were  so  low  that 
they  could  look  into  the  depths  of  the  thickets. 
They  stopped,  he  made  the  boat  fast,  Henriette  took 
hold  of  Henri's  arm,  and  they  went  beneath  the  trees. 

"Stoop,"  he  said,  so  she  bent  down,  and  they 
went  into  an  inextricable  thicket  of  creepers,  leaves, 
and  reed-grass,  which  formed  an  impenetrable  retreat, 
and  which  the  young  man  laughingly  called  "his 
private  room." 

Just  above  their  heads,  perched  in  one  of  the  trees 
which  hid  them,  the  bird  was  still  singing.  He  ut- 
tered shakes  and  roulades,  and  then  long,  vibrating 
sounds  that  filled  the  air  and  seemed  to  lose  them- 
selves in  the  distance,  across  the-  level  country, 
through  that  burning  silence  which  hung  low  upon 
the  whole  country  round.  They  did  not  speak  for 
fear  of  frightening  the  bird  away.  They  were  sitting 
close  together,  and  slowly  Henri's  arm  stole  round 
the  girl's  waist  and  squeezed  it  gently.  She  took  that 
daring  hand,  but  without  anger,  and  kept  removing  it 
whenever  he  put  it  round  her;  not,  however,  feeling 
at  ail  embarrassed  by  this  caress,  just  as  if  it  had 
been  something  quite  natural  which  she  was  resist- 
ing just  as  naturally. 

She  was  listening  to  the  bird  in  ecstasy.  She  felt 
an  infinite  longing  for  happiness,  for  some  sudden 
demonstration  of  tenderness,  for  a  revelation  of  divine 
poesy.     She   felt   such   a   softening   at   her   heart,  and 


A  COUNTRY   EXCURSION  317 

such  a  relaxation  of  her  nerves,  that  she  began  to  cry, 
without  knowing  why.  The  young  man  was  now 
straining  her  close  to  him,  and  she  did  not  remove 
his  arm;  she  did  not  think  of  it.  Suddenly  the  night- 
ingale stopped,  and  a  voice  called  out  in  the  distance: 

"Henriette!" 

"Do  not  reply,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "you 
will  drive  the  bird  away." 

But  she  had  no  idea  of  doing  so,  and  they  re- 
mained in  the  same  position  for  some  time.  Madame 
Dufour  had  sat  down  somewhere  or  other,  for  from 
time  to  time  they  heard  the  stout  lady  break  out  into 
little  bursts  of  laughter. 

The  girl  v/as  still  crying;  she  was  filled  with 
strange  sensations.  Henri's  head  was  on  her  shoulder, 
and  suddenly  he  kissed  her  on  the  lips.  She  was 
surprised  and  angry,  and,  to  avoid  him,  she  stood  up. 

They  were  both  very  pale  when  they  quitted  their 
grassy  retreat.  The  blue  sky  looked  dull  to  them, 
the  ardent  sun  was  clouded  over  to  their  eyes,  they 
perceived  not  the-  solitude  and  the  silence.  They 
walked  quickly  side  by  side,  without  speaking  or 
touching  each  other,  appearing  to  be  irreconcilable 
enemies,  as  if  disgust  had  sprung  up  betv/een  them, 
and  hatred  between  their  souls.  From  time  to  time 
Henriette  called  out:     "Mamma!" 

By  and  by  they  heard  a  noise  in  a  thicket,  and 
Madame  Dufour  appeared,  looking  rather  confused, 
and  her  companion's  face  was  wrinkled  with  smiles 
that  he  could  not  check. 

Madame  Dufour  took  his  arm,  and  they  returned 
to  the  boats.  Henri  went  on  first,  still  without  spe;i!:- 
ing,  by  the  girls   side,  and  at  last  they  got   back  to 


3l8  WORKS   OF   GUY   DE  MAUPASSANT 

Bezons.  Monsieur  Dufour,  who  had  sobered  up,  was 
waiting  for  them  very  impatiently,  while  the  youth  with 
the  yellow  hair  was  having  a  moulhiul  of  something 
to  eat  before  leaving  the  inn.  The  carnage  was  in 
the  yard,  with  the  horse  in,  and  the  grandmother, 
who  had  already  got  in,  was  frightened  at  the  thought 
of  being  overtaken  by  night,  before  they  got  back  to 
Paris,  the  outskiits  not  being  safe. 

The  young  men  shook  hands  with  them,  and  the 
Dufour  family  drove  off. 

"Good-bye,  until  we  meet  again!"  the  oarsmen 
cried,  and  the  answers  they  got  were  a  sigh  and  a 
tear. 

4:  %  !)c  9):  %  :i:  4:  ■ 

Two  months  later,  as  Henri  was  going  along  the 
Rue  des  Martyrs,  he  saw  "Dufour,  Ironmonger," 
over  a  door.  So  he  went  in,  and  saw  the  stout  lady 
sittmg  at  the  counter.  They  recognized  each  other 
immediately,  and  after  an  interchange  of  polite  greet- 
ings, he  inquired  after  them  all. 

"And  how  is  Mademoiselle  Henriette.^"  he  in- 
quired, specially. 

"Very  weU,  thank  you;  she  is  married." 

"Ah!"  Mastering  his  feelings,  he  added:  "To 
whom  was  she  married.?" 

"To  that  young  man  who  went  with  us,  you 
know;  he  has  joined  us  in  business." 

"i  remember  him,  perfectly." 

He  was  going  out,  feeling  unhappy,  though  scarcely 
knowing  why,  when  Madame  called  him  back. 

"And  how  is  your  friend?"  she  asked,  rather 
shyly. 

"He  is  very  well,  thank  you." 


A   COUNTRY   EXCURSION  HQ 

"Please  give  him  our  compliments,  and  beg  him 
to  come  and  call  when  he  is  in  the  neighborhood," 
She  then  added:  "Tell  him  it  will  give  me  great 
pleasure." 

"1  will  be  sure  to  do  so.     Adieu!" 

"I  will  not  say  that;  come  again,  very  soon." 

4;  4:  %  %  4:  :(:  >)< 

The  next  year,  one  very  hot  Sunday,  all  the  de- 
tails of  that  memorable  adventure  suddenly  came  back 
to  him  so  clearly  that  he  revisited  the  "private  room" 
in  the  wood,  and  v/as  overwhelmed  with  astonish- 
ment when  he  went  in.  She  was  sitting  on  the 
grass,  looking  very  sad,  while  by  her  side,  again  in 
his  shirt-sleeves,  the  young  man  with  the  yellow 
hair  was  sleeping  soundly,  like  some  brute. 

She  grew  so  pale  w^hen  she  saw  Henri,  that  at 
first  he  thought  she  was  going  to  faint;  then,  hov/- 
ever,  they  began  to  talk  quite  naturally.  But  when 
he  told  her  that  he  was  very  fond  of  that  spot,  and 
went  there  very  often  on  Sundays,  she  looked  into 
his  eyes  for  a  long  time.  "1,  too,  often  think  of  it," 
she  replied. 

"Come,  my  dear,"  her  husband  said,  with  a  yawn; 
"I  think  it  is  time  for  us  to  be  going." 


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iiO  PhUlML 


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"^'       19881 


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